


How to Lose a Girl in Ten Days

by cassiniregio



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Comedy, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, Shenanigans, romcom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10267817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiniregio/pseuds/cassiniregio
Summary: Lexa is doing everything she can to get Clarke to fall in love with her while Clarke does her best to drive Lexa away. It's a ten day gay disaster....A romcom au based on that one movie.Now complete!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dearsheroozle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearsheroozle/gifts).



> Not necessary to have seen the movie as this is more or less a direct adaptation of it, except whole lot gayer and with alterations to suit the characters. All the thanks to @danctyd for beta-ing and being generally awesome <3  
>   
> Also happy late birthday to @dearsheroozle who reminded me to post this for like 3 solid months.  
>   
> Romcom rules apply here, ie: roll with the shenanigans and enjoy the ride.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1.

 

“... _Only with tolerance and understanding, can we find true and lasting peace,”_ Raven reads aloud. She skims back over the article in awe. “Clarke, this is...wow. Truly moving.”

“You think so?”

“Honestly, the best you've ever written,” Raven nods. She almost hates to crush the hopeful look on Clarke's face, but she has to add, “and not something you'll ever get Callie to publish, unfortunately.”

Clarke's face falls. “But if I pitch it in just the right way—”

“Not happening in a million years,” Raven says firmly. She gets up from Clarke’s chair and moves to sit on the desk beside the computer. “This is SKY magazine, fashion and women's lifestyle, not politics and foreign affairs.”

“Politics and foreign affairs _are_ women's lifestyle,” Clarke mumbles, sullenly, dropping into her seat with a sigh. Raven is right, but she's not quite ready to accept it. “I busted my _ass_ in grad school, how did I end up here writing trashy throwaway articles like,” she adopts a faux cheerful voice, “ _How to Use the Best Pick-Up Lines_ and _Do Blondes, Do They, Like, Really Have More Fun?_ '' She falls back into her normal voice. “I want to write about stuff that _matters,_ something that could make a difference in the world. Stuff I'm actually _interested_ in, ya know?”

Raven nods sympathetically. “I know, I only took this job to pay for my engineering degree, but look how _that’s_ going.”

“You’re just taking a break to save money, you’ll get there,” Clarke assures her.

“Keep busting your ass, Griff, you'll get there too.” Raven hops up and moves to her desk to pull something out of the top drawer. “Anyway hey, l've got something to cheer you up. You know that editor from Sports lllustrated you've been shamelessly flirting with on the phone for... oh, a month now? He made a little delivery this morning…”

Clarke jumps up, forgetting her grumpiness for the moment. “Ah, let me see!”

Raven holds up an envelope with Clarke's name written on it and Clarke tears it open. She pulls out the tickets, squealing excitedly.

“Yes yes! Tomorrow night!”

Raven crosses her arms, leaning her hip against the desk. “What happens tomorrow night?”

“Only the most exhilarating and artistic display of athletic competition known to mankind.”

“The lce Capades are in town?”

Clarke waves the tickets in Ravens face, the logo bright and clear at the top. “ _No,_  the NBA Finals are in town, and l got tickets!” She dances around in a circle, making her coworkers nearby stare. Clarke turns back to Raven, with a pleading puppy dog face. “Come with me?”

Raven resists for a moment before cracking, shoving Clarke away. “Alright, _alright_ , l'll go. But l am not putting out.”

Clarke saunters back to her desk, throwing over her shoulder, “Two stale jumbo dogs and a couple beers, you'll be whistling a different tune.”

Raven winks, “You know what l like.”

Callie walks by at that moment, her steps brisk and confident, carrying a tablet and thick folio of notes. As editor-in-chief of SKY magazine, she kept a tight reign on the office. “Good morning, ladies. Writers meeting, thirty minutes.”

Once she's out of earshot, Clarke glances at Raven and then at the empty desk nearby. “Haven't seen Monty in today yet.”

“He called me last night and all I could make out between the sobs was _soulmate_ and _despair._ Ten bucks says he's still wallowing.”

Clarke sighs, standing up and gathering her coat. “lt's my turn.  l'll get him, you get the coffee, meet me at the corner in twenty.”

 

///

 

Lexa drops her foot to the ground as traffic slows to a halt. She’s only a block from work, but there’s construction happening all along this road, backing up traffic. The taxi in front of her drifts forward a few more feet into the lane beside it, opening up enough space to the side for Lexa’s motorcycle to slip through. She weaves around cars and around the corner, finding a convenient spot between two parked cars right in front of her building.

Perks of riding a motorcycle in this parking nightmare of a city.

She pulls her helmet off, running a hand through her hair. Out of the corner of her eye she spots her least favorite coworker, just as Nia notices her. The woman stops to wait, her fingers tapping on the black folio in her arms, lips forming into a satisfied smirk. Clearly she has something to boast about.

Lexa takes her time getting off her bike—fixing her hair, straightening her leather jacket and the strap of her satchel, tucking the motorcycle helmet under her arm—before she steps up onto the sidewalk.

“Nia,” Lexa nods to her, “You look lovely today.” Nia’s wearing high spiked heels and a short black dress with a plunging while somehow still professional neckline. Dressed to impress or intimidate, Lexa doesn’t know or care.

“Echo and I have an appointment today on a potential new account.” She raises a heavily penciled eyebrow at Lexa’s casual attire of boots, dark jeans, and an old Guns and Roses t-shirt. “Have to look professional.”

“Or distracting, when the meeting goes poor,” Lexa counters, easily.

Nia purses her lips, tapping her long nails on the folio in front of her. Lexa notices she has a copy of SKY magazine. A bold headline next to a partially clothed and heavily photoshopped model reads _Turn-On Tricks: How to Make Him Hot._

“You learning a lot from that rag?” Lexa asks, amused.

“SKY magazine is the fastest growing women's magazine in the country. And considering our clients run many of our campaigns in this nationally-syndicated _rag,_  it might behoove you to do a little reading.”

Lexa rolls her eyes. Echo walks up, dressed similarly to Nia and carrying an identical folio. She spares Lexa a nod before facing Nia. “You ready?”

“Let's go.” Nia ignores Lexa completely and the two of them stalk away to catch a cab.

Lexa really hates the two of them. But what the Ice Queens do is not her concern.

 

///

 

It takes three rounds of knocking before Monty finally answers his door. He's dressed in periwinkle blue pajamas with polka dots, bunny slippers and and a rumpled robe. He groans when he sees who it is.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Clarke chirps, pushing past Monty into his apartment. The space is a mess of days old take out containers and used tissues. “Okay, get dressed, get dressed. Staff meeting, twenty minutes. Let's go.”

Monty sighs, trudging back to his bed. “I have no reason to live.”

Clarke tries to remain positive. “Sun's out! It's a beautiful day!” She grabs Monty's arm before he can fall into bed and propels him toward the closet. “Okay, just… Okay, come on now…” She pulls out a dark red sweater. “Cashmere? Put it on. lt'll make those beautiful brown eyes of yours pop.”

Monty takes the clothes and sits on the bed, pouting.

Growing frustrated, Clarke turns into Stern Mom™ mode. “Get up. l'm not going to let you lose your job on top of everything else.”

Monty nods, standing and falling into Clarke's arms. “Oh, Clarke.”

“Okay. Okay.” She pats his back. “You only dated the guy a week, so.”

“lt was the best week of my life,” he sniffles.

Clarke sighs. “Sweetheart.”

 

///

 

Octavia is already there when Lexa walks into their shared office, but Anya is not, which isn't surprising. Lexa can count on one hand the number of times Anya has beaten her to the office. Octavia is still technically a junior associate and still eager to make a good impression.

“Good morning, Octavia,” Lexa nods, setting her helmet on her desk and taking her jacket off.

“Morning Lex. Ahn,” she adds as their third officemate trudges in, rubbing her eyes.

Lexa sits in her chair, surveying Anya's exhausted state with amusement. “Long night?”

Anya drops in her own chair. “Not bad.”

“Orgy?” Octavia smirks.

Anya ignores her with a roll of her eyes. “Where did you run off to last night, Woods?”

“Not an orgy.”

Octavia spins her chair around. “Did you hear?”

Lexa threads her fingers behind her head and leans back, grinning. “What? That my Knickerbockers are now in the championship series and Anya here owes me fifty bucks?”

“ _Fuck_ _me_ ,” Anya groans, drawing out the words. She digs her wallet out and throws the money down, glaring at Lexa's smug look. She mumbles something about needing coffee and heads to the break room.

Octavia waves her hand, getting Lexa's attention again. “Right, right basketball. Anyway, you were right. Jaha Diamonds is looking for a new ad agency. Becca wants to move on it aggressively.”

“Yes!” Lexa slaps the table, standing up again. Today is a _good_ day. She goes over to the clothing rack on the back wall and sorts through the dress shirts. She learned a long time ago it was much easier to just change at work instead of trying to keep her clothes nice and unwrinkled riding her motorcycle.

Heedless of her coworkers view through the glass partition, she strips out of her t-shirt and picks out a neatly pressed dark silk shirt with grey pinstripes. She slips the shirt on and buttons it up, ignoring Anya's wolf whistle as she walks back in. “Did you know that diamonds are about as common as taxis on Fifth Avenue? The value is entirely sentimental, maintained by a supply, demand, and advertising. Jaha’s the biggest player in the US diamond market. Meaning if l represent them, l basically represent the entire domestic industry.”

Octavia glances at Anya and they share a look of unease. “Tell her.”

Lexa stops. “What?”

“Becca gave it to the Ice Queens. Nia and Echo—they're already on it.”

“ _What?_ No!”

Anya shrugs. “Well what did you expect? We're the sneakers and beer division. Precious gems aren't exactly our forte. They're over at a chick's magazine right now talking accounts.”

Lexa starts for the hallway, “I've got to get to Becca before they sink this—”

Octavia jumps in front of her. “You can't, hey you can't. She's on a plane already. The Chicago meeting? And it's too late anyway, because she's meeting them for drinks at Grounders tonight to discuss their ideas.”

“You know what? This isn't happening.” Lexa starts to pace angrily, punctuating her words with violent swipes of her hands. “You know why? This was _my_ tip. It's going to be _my_ pitch, _my_ account, _my_ campaign.”

“That's what l'm talking about,” Anya nods.

Lexa stops and punches her palm with her fist. “They will not ace me out of this.”

 

///

 

Clarke makes it back to SKY with Monty clean and dressed, with five minutes to spare. Raven is waiting on the corner as promised with three coffees and a bag hopefully holding donuts.

“Hey Montasaurus,” Raven greets, handing him his coffee.

“Hi.” He takes a tiny sip of coffee, eyes on the ground. “l-l don't really want to talk about it, okay?”

They make it ten steps towards the building before Monty stops and wails, “Why does this always happen to me? Things were going great for, like, a week and a half, and then, all of a sudden, it's over, just like that.”

“Poor baby,” Raven says, patting Monty's arm.

Clarke sighs, tugging on his other arm to keep them moving. “Let's just roll with this one.”

“Nathan and l had _such_ a connection. The first time that we had sex...it was so beautiful… l cried.”

“You cried?”

“Yeah.”

Raven looks at him, incredulously. “You mean, like, one glistening tear on your cheek, right?”

Monty shakes his head, earnestly. “No. l was really emotional. I even told him that I loved him.”

Clarke winces. “After how many days?”

He hesitates. “Five.” Then, “Two. lt was how l felt! l wanted to express myself.”

“Okay, well, what did he say?”

“Nate didn't have to say anything. l know that he felt the same.” Monty pauses, thinking it over. “But then he started getting really busy, and I didn't know where he was. So I kept calling him and calling him. He was never home...”

They stop for the elevator. Raven turned to face him, crossing her arms. “You kept calling him?”

“l didn't leave a message!” Monty sighs as the elevator opens to admit them. “Anyway… l know why he dumped me. I'm too fat.”

In unison, the girls exclaim, “You're not fat!”

Clarke pats his back, exchanging a nod with Raven. He needs to be told. “Monty, even if the most handsomest, most muscular guy _or_ girl acted the way you did, any normal person would still go running in the other direction.”

“Oh, no.” Monty glowers in Clarke’s direction. “No one would go running from _you_ , Clarke. You could barf all over them, and they would still say _do it again_.”

Clarke gags, dragging Monty out of the elevator towards the conference room. “That is both incredibly disgusting and completely untrue. lf l did the things you did, l'd get dumped, too.”

Monty looks like he wants to refute, but Callie enters the conference room behind them to start the staff meeting. Everyone gets comfortable around the low coffee table. Callie seats herself in a butterfly chair, primly, legs crossed at the ankles.

“Alright, ladies, gentlemen, how are we doing today? Good?” There's a general murmur of assent. “Good, Harper, let's start with you.”

Clarke tunes out Harper's chatter of her various projects and Callie's hummed acknowledgments. She absently scrolls through the article on her iPad, the foreign affairs piece she’d spent all weekend on. It's only when Callie calls her name that she comes back to the meeting.

“What's next for _How To_ _With Clarke_?”

She glances briefly at Raven, who shrugs her shoulder sympathetically. “Well, I've been working on something that's kind of different. lt's…a political piece, and it—”

“No,” Callie interrupts her. “Clarke, you work at SKY magazine. We are fashion, trends, diets, cosmetic surgeries, salacious gossip— _that's_ SKY.”

“No I know, but you've been talking about how you want to expand the audience and—”

“Look, Clarke. The column is new for you. When you turn it into a must-read, then you can write about whatever you want. Until then, you can write about whatever _l_ want. Understood?”

Clarke sighs and nods. Callie moves on to Monty, sitting quietly next to Clarke, staring at his hands.

“Monty, what have you got?”

He looks up, guiltily. “l'm sorry, Callie, l wasn't feeling very well…”

“The boy got dumped,” Raven jumps in.

Callie tuts. “Oh, no, Monty… What a hellish ordeal for you. But l must say, you are looking fabulous. Are we loving the way he looks, all?” She nods encouragingly around the room until everyone nods and chorus their agreement.

“Well…” Monty mumbles, “I haven't really eaten since the split.”

“Good for you! Write about it.”

He gapes at her. “l can't use my personal life for a story.”

“l understand completely.” She addresses the rest of the room. “Who will use Monty’s personal life for a story?”

Harper raises her hand immediately. “Oh, l will!”

Callie smiles. “Go.”

Monty sits forward, waving his hands. “No, no, no, Callie, with all due respect, Harper has no business messing around in my personal life, and l can't… l can't let her.”

“l am—” Callie starts with a long suffering sigh, but Clarke interrupts her.

“l'll do it.”

Monty jerks around to stare at her. “What?”

Clarke races to think up a good pitch. “l'll… l'll sort of do it! lt's... You will be my inspiration.”

“For?”

She shifts forward, addressing everyone as her idea takes shape and the thrill of a new piece pulls a genuine smile to her lips. “Look at Monty. He's a great guy, right? Smart, funny, so kind. But he has a trouble hanging onto relationships, which is like a lot of our readers.  So, l was thinking that l could start by dating someone, and then drive them away, but only using the classic mistakes people, like Monty, make… all the time. I can keep it totally gender neutral, so it's accessible to everyone. l'll keep a diary, and it will be sort of a… dating _How To_ in reverse.”

Callie smiles, slow and cat-like, mulling the idea over. “What _not_ to do.”

“Yeah.”

''I like it. _How to Lose a Girl in Ten Days_. Yes. Go.” She turns to address the next person. “Fox, what's new in the shoe world?”

“Wait, wait, Callie, l'm sorry.” Clarke breaks in before Fox can answer. “A girl?”

“We're specifically pushing to target sapphic women right now. Slowly rebranding our image to be inclusive and accessible to _all_ women. This will make catchy headline on the cover and improve our marketability. Good?”

Clarke nods slowly, her mind running with all the possibilities of this new assignment. It's been a while since she's dated a woman (or _anyone_ to be honest) but she's sure she can pull this off. She opens up a note app on her tablet and types in Callie's instructions followed by a few of her own comments. The rest of the meeting only half registers and Monty has to nudge her when it's over.

On the way back to their desks, they catch Callie meeting with two women dressed intimidatingly sharp, all high heels and tight dresses, carrying matching black folders.

“Ah, here's my ten o’clock,” Callie smiles, holding out her hand to shake. “Welcome.”

The women smile, charmingly, though it doesn't reach their eyes. Just as Clarke and the others try to slip past, Callie calls them out with a smile.

“Hold up a moment, I'd like you to meet my guests. This is Echo Black and Nia Winters from Polaris Advertising. We're going to cook up some fabulous tie-ins for the fall.” She points out each employee as she introduces them and they nod in greeting, “Raven Reyes, Fitness and Health. Monty Green, Romance and Chemistry. And Clarke Griffin our resident _How To_ girl.”

The one introduced as Nia perks up at Clarke's name. “Oh, l've read your column. What are you working on now?”

“Oh, actually—”

Callie steps forward excitedly, answering for her. “ _How to Lose a_ Girl _in Ten Days._ She's actually going to start dating a girl, and then drive her away in a week and a half.”

Nia and Echo exchange a look and laugh darkly. “Sounds needlessly vicious.”

“lt's going to be fabulous. Now all she has to do is run along and find the lucky girl.” She turns to Clarke, Raven, and Monty, and shoos them away. “Go, go, go.”

They say their goodbyes and hurry away as Callie continues her tour of the office.

“Find the girl,” Clarke says, thoughtfully.

Raven shakes her head, “Oh, you are never going to pull this off.”

Clarke grins. “Watch me. Tonight, l'll hook a girl. Tomorrow, flip the switch. Before the ten days are up, l'm going to have her running for her life.”

Monty looks nervous. “You're not going to burn her apartment down or bite her or anything, are you?”

“Well, the biting maybe in the right setting…” Clarke trails off, getting lost in a daydream for a moment before coming back to herself. “No, no, I'm going to limit myself to doing everything people do wrong in relationships. The stereotypical stuff. l'll be clingy, needy, touchy-feely, moody…”

Raven grins as she gets an idea. “Ooh, call her in the middle of the night, and tell her everything you had to eat that day.

“What's wrong with that?” Monty jokes, until he sees their concerned faces. “l'm kidding, I'm kidding!”

 

///

 

On a Friday night, Grounders is packed with people milling by the bar and tables spread around the floor. With it's central downtown location, the after work crowd routinely congregate here. It's loud though, and Lexa can't fathom why the Ice Queens would want to meet here to do a business deal.

She sits at a table she knows is Becca’s favorite, eagerly awaiting Nia and Echos death glares when they see her. And when they arrive moments after Becca, Lexa is not disappointed.

“Lexa, what are you doing here?” Becca says sitting in the chair Lexa pulls out for her.

“l'm here for the meeting, ma’am.” She doesn't offer them chairs, but she nods at her coworkers. “Ladies.”

The two women sit rather stiffly. “But you weren't invited.”

Lexa concedes a nod. “True, but l should have been. lt was my tip that Jaha is shopping for a new firm.”

Her boss rests her elbows on the arm rests and steeples her fingers together. “Yes, it was, but l have to think in terms of who's best-suited within the company team—”

“Yes, and that's me. l want to handle this pitch.”

Becca sighs. “Lexa, you're one of my best, nobody is debating that. Your work has a fire and energy that's unmatched. But these ladies sell _luxury_ best. We need a subtle touch on this, Jaha will be our biggest account.”

“You're absolutely right.” She spent half the day preparing this pitch and now she just has to sell it. “And l am the woman that's going to bring this home for you.

“Look, the diamond industry has historically targeted men, sending the message that the woman needs the man to buy her the ring. Not only is that misogynistic, it’s archaic. And completely cuts out same sex couples, a viable untapped market.” She waves dismissively at Nia and Echo. “They say, _a diamond is forever._ Well we say, _a diamond is for everyone_.''

Becca nods, thoughtfully. “l like that.”

Lexa smiles victoriously, but Nia quickly breaks in with a counter.

“We don't. _A diamond is for everyone_ sends the message that diamonds are everywhere, which means they're not rare, and if they're not rare, they lose their status. _Status_ is the reason to buy them in the first place.”

Echo continues. “We want to market to women too, yes. But selling a diamond to a woman is like making her fall in love. She has to feel giddy, desirous, adventurous, and desperate. Take a look around this room. Most of the women in this bar are looking for just that.”

Lexa quickly jumps in, unsure where this is going but wanting to stay on top of it. “Exactly. The skills required to market diamonds are the same as those needed to make a woman fall in love, yes.”

“l'm not talking about _lust,_ ” Echo snaps. “A woman in lust wants chocolate. A woman in love...wants diamonds.”

Lexa frowns. “l'm not talking about lust, either. I'm talking about real, deep, meaningful, universe spanning love.” She turns to Becca. “Look, I love women, you know this about me, and I _am_ a woman. I respect women, I know what they like, what they want. And that's why l can make a woman fall in love –  any woman, anywhere, anytime.”

Something catches Nia’s eye across the bar, or rather some _one_. A scheme quickly forms in her mind, a chance to win back the account _and_ make a fool of Lexa (a win-win, Nia’s favorite kind of scheme). She turns back to Lexa, with a sickening smile. “Make a woman fall in love with _diamonds_ , Alexandria…? Or with _you_?”

The use of her full name irritates her, as does the accusation, because Nia knows better than anyone what happened last time someone fell in love with Lexa. Regardless, Lexa meets her challenge with a clenched jaw. “Either one.”

“Well, that's cocky, Lexa,” Becca muses.

“Not cocky—confident.”

Nia’s smile is predatory now. “l'd like to see you prove that.”

Lexa raises her eyebrow, a little unnerved. “You would?”

“Absolutely. The agency's cohosting a party for the Jahas at the Arkadia Museum. The party's a week from Sunday. Do you think you could make a woman fall in love with you by then?”

“Ten days?”

“Any woman, anywhere, anytime?” Echo reminds her, catching on to Nia’s scheme.

“Any single, available woman interested in women, yes,” Lexa says, slowly, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes. l'm not trying to trick you, Lexa. ln fact, we'll choose a woman right here, right now, in this bar, and then you decide.”

Lexa's brows jump. This meeting has quickly spiraled out of her control, but she fights to appear cool and collected. She feels as if she's barreled right into a trap, but she can't figure out how just yet. The idea of using someone to get ahead in her career sits heavy in her stomach, but faced with the Ice Queens smirking faces, daring her to back down, her competitive side wins out. She glances at Becca, who just raises her eyebrows, waiting to see how this plays out. Lexa lifts her chin, turns back to her coworkers. “Okay. So, who's the lucky girl?”

Nia and Echo survey the room, playfully pointing out different women with backhand comments that make Lexa's skin crawl. Finally Nia settles on one in particular.

“Her.”

Lexa glances around. “Her who?”

Nia points her out. “ _Her,_  in the gray dress. Blonde hair. Pretty smile.”

Lexa finally spots her, her mouth slackening a bit as she takes the blonde in. The gray dress is fitted, showing off her curves and a tantalizing amount of bare leg, and her blonde hair falls in soft curls around her shoulders. Her smile though, _god._ Pretty smile is almost criminally underrated because the blonde’s smile is _breathtaking,_ lighting up her face with what seems to Lexa like literal sunshine. Even across the bar, she can see the blonde’s bright blue eyes lit with warm laughter.

She swallows thickly and clears her throat. “Her? As long as she's not straight.”

“Oh something tells me she's not,” Nia says sharing a private laugh with Echo.

Lexa turns back, having regained her impassive mask. “Fine. Done. But here are the stakes. After I win this bet the pitch is mine.”

Nia holds her hand out, which Lexa reluctantly shakes. “Agreed.”

“Becca?”

Their boss had been silent through their negotiations, but she nods decisively, shaking each of the women's hands. “Agreed. You come to that party with a girl that's really in love with you, Lexa... you can make the pitch to Jaha himself.

Echo starts to protest but Becca holds her hand up. “l've made up my mind.” She lifts her glass. “To the Jahas.”

The others clink their glasses together, chorusing, “To the Jahas.”

 

///

 

Grounders, though not officially a lesbian bar, is nevertheless a popular place for women to congregate and meet other women. Clarke herself enjoyed coming here after work for drinks with Raven. So it’s as good a place as anywhere to snag herself a girl. Of course, she hasn't tried to pick anyone up in a while (hasn't really seriously dated anyone since that thing with Finn her last year of grad school) and she was a little rusty apparently.

The woman sitting beside her at the bar is pretty and has a nice smile but her voice has a shrill quality that's off-putting. And she seems to like talking even more than Clarke after a few drinks.  

She's not had _nearly_ enough to drink to be actually interested in this woman’s ( _Karen,_ Clarke reminds herself) story of her first experience riding the subway. Still, she at least tries to appear to be listening, nodding occasionally and murmuring the appropriate responses at the appropriate times.

“All the different rail lines are just so confusing,” Karen trills. “I don't know if I'll ever figure them out!”

Clarke smiles, kindly, resting her hand lightly on the woman's arm. “Oh a smart girl like you? I'm sure you'll get it in no time.”

Karen giggles at the compliment, waving her off.

“It can be confusing at first, for a non-native,” Clarke continues, ready to drop the hook. “You know I grew up here, I could totally show you around the city…”

“Oh really?” Karen gasps. “That would be amazing. I mean my husband has been here before but he's busy with his meetings during the day and—”

“Oh I—” Clarke reels back. _Husband?_

A man comes up behind Karen, resting his hand around her shoulder. “Hey honey, who's your new friend?”

“Hi sweetie, this is Clarke, she's—”

Clarke stands quickly, offering her hand. “Hi, nice to meet you, uh—” Her face feels too warm and she needs to _leave._  The man's looking at Clarke curiously and then at his wife, a slow smirk forming as if he sees exactly what's happening. “I should uh—I should leave you two to...enjoy your evening.” She gathers her drink and her purse, trying hard not to look like she's fleeing and probably failing. “Karen it was lovely to meet you, have a good time in New York.”

Raven and Monty are still standing around a cocktail table on the other side of the room. Clarke catches Raven’s questioning eye through the crowd. She raises her left hand and wiggles her ring finger, mouthing the word _married_. Raven deflates sympathetically and mouthing back _bummer._

How had she not noticed the woman was married? She swore she hadn't been wearing a ring. Clarke sighs, leaning against a pillar, looking around. Across the room, she spots a group seated at one of the few tables. There's a brunette that catches her eye immediately, talking animatedly and punctuating her words with hand movements.

She's _beautiful,_  narrow face with high cheekbones, dark hair lightly curled, dressed is a clean pressed striped button, with a leather jacket spread across her chair back. All pluses in Clarke’s book. On the other hand, she’s obviously busy and not looking to be picked up by an undercover journalist. She's probably taken anyway, a girl that beautiful didn't stay single for long.

Clarke sighs again, swirling the straw in her glass absently, looking around the crowd. Time to find a new prospect.

 

///

 

With the Jaha account taken care of for the moment, the meeting with Becca dissolves into general shop talk. Lexa half listens, nursing her drink and going over her game plan. She's picked up plenty of women before, but she can't risk rejection in this case.

The conversation dulls at last and Lexa takes the opportunity to finish off her gin and tonic. She stands from the table, slipping her leather jacket back on. “Well if you all will excuse me, I have a bet to win.”

Becca tips her glass to her. “Good luck.”

Lexa weaves her way through the crowd looking for the blonde. She'd gotten a few glimpses of her since Nia pointed her out, enough to know she probably hadn't left yet. Thankfully the woman is alone, leaning against a pillar and playing with the straw in her glass as she surveys the room.

Lexa takes a moment to collect herself before she makes her move. She maneuvers around to the right place and then, in a practiced motion, brushes past the woman and knocking her elbow enough to jostle the glass in her hand.

“Oh, god, I'm so sorry,” Lexa gasps, dropping her hand on the blonde’s upper arm to steady her.

Some of the alcohol from the blonde’s glass had sloshed out, but luckily only a bit on her fingers. She laughs, shaking her hand to dry it. “No, no it's fine, no worries.”

“I'm not usually so clumsy.”

“It's totally…” The woman finally looks up, blinking at Lexa and looking a little stunned. “Fine… totally fine. Hi.”

The blonde’s eyes are _so_ blue, distracting Lexa for a moment. Her cheeks heat up and she prays the woman doesn't notice. “Hi...”

No luck. The woman smiles knowingly, holding her hand out, “Hi, Clarke Griffin.”

“Alexandria Woods.” She takes Clarke's hand, shaking it firmly. “But I go by Lexa.”

“Cute.”

Lexa smirks. “Thanks.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, a blush of her own, darkening her cheeks. “I meant your name.”

Lexa's smirk grows cheeky. “Thank you two times.”

“So…” After the _Karen Incident_ , Clarke decides to get the necessities out of the way up front. “Straight?”

Lexa snorts. “As a circle. You?”

Clarke smiles at the easy joke. “Bisexual. Unattached?”

“Currently.”

Clarke nods, pleased. “Likewise.”

Lexa quirks her eyebrow. “Surprising.” She allows her gaze to drift briefly down.

Clarke eyes her critically, but still with a teasing sparkle in her eye. “Psycho?”

“Rarely. Interested?”

“Possibly...”

“Hungry?”

She wasn't before, but _now._  “Starving…”

Lexa tries hard to tame her smile from getting too big. “Leaving?”

“Now?”

Lexa hums with a small nod. She can see Clarke fighting it, but she seems caught by Lexa's charm, unable to resist.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Clarke nods, smiling shyly. “I just need to let my friends know.”

“Sure, I'll meet you by the door.” Lexa turns to let Clarke slip by, being careful to let her fingertips trail along Clarke's arm as she goes. She means to leave goosebumps in her wake but the touch sparks her own fingertips and her heart flips in her chest. She's picked up plenty of girls before but she's never been this intrigued by one.

 

///

 

Clarke weaves around people until she finds Raven and Monty by the bar. “Hey.” She glances over her shoulder and sees Lexa already by the door, slouched casually with her hands in her jacket pockets. She looks back at her friends. “Hey I think I got one.”

“What?” Raven says around the straw of her drink.

Monty raises his eyebrow. “Wasn't she married?”

Clarke waves him off impatiently. “No, not her. The woman by the door but don't— _don't look_ —” Of course they immediately lean around Clarke to look. “Dammit, come on, be cool—”

“Oh fuck, she's hot,” Raven whistles, appreciatively. Monty nods in agreement.

“Yeah, listen I'm gonna go check her out—”

“ _Yeah_ you will,” Raven cuts in, grinning.

“And see if she's a keeper,” Clarke continues, rolling her eyes.

“ _Keep_ her all night long—”

“Okay and if she is?” Monty interrupts.

“Then tomorrow, I'll…”

“Flip the switch,” Raven finishes.

Clarke gulps down the rest of her drink, hissing at the burn. She hands her empty glass to Monty. “Doing this for you, bud.”

“Good luck, be safe!”

“Call me later with all the explicit details,” Raven adds.

Clarke just winks and makes her way to the door where Lexa is still waiting. Lexa opens the door for her and they step out into the night. It's nearing summer and still fairly warm, but Clarke's glad she brought a jacket anyway when Lexa stops beside a sleek black motorcycle.

“This is me.” She leans down to unhook her helmet before digging in one of the saddlebags for a second helmet. She looks up at Clarke, almost challenging. “This alright?”

Swallowing her apprehension, Clarke steps closer. “Of course.”

“Good, then you get to wear the goofy looking helmet.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and takes the smaller, white helmet with a traditional chin strap. “This won't look goofy on me.” She pushes her hair behind her ears before slipping the helmet on. It fits snugly, but comfortably.

“It looks goofy on just about everyone.” Lexa throws her leg over her bike, getting situated before looking up to see Clarke posing in the helmet. “Look at you,” she grins, “that's actually pretty cute.” She reaches out to help buckle the strap under Clarke's chin, adjusting until it's tight. “There you go.”

Lexa puts her own helmet on, a proper motorcycle helmet, with the face shield raised, while Clarke climbs on behind her. Clarke hesitates for a moment with what to do with her hands before settling them lightly on Lexa's waist, just above her hips.

“You ready to go for a ride, Clarke?” Lexa glances back over her shoulder with a wink and a roguish smirk before shutting the face shield and kick starting the bike.

Clarke sucks in a breath, because despite the cheesy line, that look was _hot_ and _did things_ to her. Things that were highly inappropriate for having just met this woman. She means to be witty, but all she can manage is a weak retort. “Are _you_ ready to go for a ride, Lexa?”

Muffled by the helmet and the rumble of the bike, Clarke thinks she hears Lexa laugh.  

 

///

 

They end up at a small local seafood restaurant Clarke's never been to, but Lexa seems to be familiar with. They sit on adjacent corners of the table, close enough to touch, but they don't, not yet. They order a platter between them. Lexa doesn't hesitate to tuck the plastic bib provided into her shirt collar and dive right in so neither does Clarke.

After a few minutes of trying everything, Lexa sits back, wiping her mouth on a napkin. “So, what do you think?”

Clarke raises her eyebrow, cracking open a shell with a sharp precise snap. “About the food…or you?”

Lexa raises her own eyebrow, challengingly. “Both.”

“Well, this is delicious,” Clarke waves the empty lobster shell before setting it aside and wiping her mouth. She considers Lexa a moment. “And I'm still deciding.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah, you could answer some questions for me, actually.”

Lexa thinks about it, returning to her food. “ _Some_ sounds too indefinite. I'll give you three.”

Clarke thinks it over. She's surprised to find she doesn't even know where to start, there's so many things she wants to know about Lexa already. How long has it been since they met at the bar? “Okay, what do you do for a living?”

“I work in advertising. I handle mostly alcoholic beverages and athletic equipment companies, and now ah—” Lexa leans forward, holding her hand up when Clarke opens her mouth to reply. “Before you say something cheeky about lesbian stereotypes, let me just remind you…sometimes stereotypes can be true. So just go ahead and say it.”

Clarke laughs out loud. “I wasn't gonna say that.”

Lexa frowns, unconvinced. “My coworker Anya likes to give me shit about it _often_.”

“I wasn't!” Clarke waves her hands. “I was gonna say it's very respectable, actually. You're saving the world, one keg party at a time.”

Lexa laughs and rolls her eyes. Clarke has to fight to not be too charmed by it. “ _Sure_. I'm actually trying to break into the jewelry market right now. It'll be my biggest account if I land it.”

“And do you enjoy your work?”

“I'm very good at it,” Lexa says non-committedly. After a moment she decides the question deserves a more thoughtful answer. “I didn't expect to end up in this field when I first went off to college. I sort of fell into it and found I excelled at it. I don't always enjoy the work, but I enjoy making people _feel_ something. I know it's not going to save the world,” Lexa rolls her eyes and Clarke laughs, “but it helps me understand how people _see_ the world. It's interesting.”

Lexa's never been so open about her career, especially with someone she's just met, but something about Clarke puts her at ease. She's barely even thinking about the bet right now, she's just thoroughly enjoying Clarke's company. It helps that Clarke is beautiful and funny and her laugh is so addicting, Lexa wants to hear it over and over. It gives her ridiculous little butterflies in her stomach.

Clarke's looking at her curiously, like she can see right into Lexa's mind and read every disastrously gay thought she has. Lexa flushes and quickly asks, “What about you? What do you do?”

“I'm a writer,” Clarke says, then clarifies, “a  journalist.”

“Oh, have I seen your work?”

There's the barest hint of hesitation when Clarke answers. “I work at SKY Magazine.”

“Fastest-growing women's fashion magazine in the country,” Lexa notes, promptly.

Clarke's eyebrows jump. “You read it?”

Lexa shrugs. “Gotta read something in the checkout line at the grocery store.” She tries for teasing. “So what, you're saving the world, one shop-a-holic at a time?”

“Hey, okay!” Clarke shoves Lexa's shoulder, scolding her for laughing. “Look, I have a _Master's_ in journalism from Columbia. My boss loves me, and if l do it her way for a while, l can write about anything l want.”

“Like shoes?”

“ _No,_  smartass. You wanna talk about stereotypes.”

Lexa laughs again. “Alright, alright, fair enough. What would you want to write about then?”

“I don't know, maybe alcoholic beverages and athletic equipment?”

“Touché.” Lexa takes a slow drink from her glass of wine, watching Clarke over the rim of her glass. She cocks an eyebrow. “So, you think you got me all figured out yet?”

“Almost.” Clarke bites her lip, propping her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “Still got one more question.”

Lexa mirrors Clarke's position, leaning so they're only a few inches apart. “Shoot.”

“True or false.” Clarke narrows her eyes, trying to get a read on Lexa. The brunette’s expression is playful from the half quirk to her lips to the half lidded stare. But something about Lexa's lazy cockiness seems forced, a mask to hide behind. What could be behind it, Clarke doesn't know, but she's interested to find out. “All's fair in love and war?”

Lexa’s playful gaze doesn't waver. “True.”

Clarke sits back, pleased. “Good answer.”

“Great question.”

Their dinner date turns considerably lighter after that. They each realize the other is a Knicks fan and the conversation becomes a good-natured debate about the team's chances in the upcoming finals. When Lexa invites Clarke back to her apartment for a drink once they're done eating, Clarke accepts.

Lexa lives in a spacious loft apartment full of dark wood and leather, impeccably clean and organized. The dining space opens into a large living area with a nice leather couch and a flat screen on the wall. There's an overabundance of candles arranged on several surfaces, all in various stages of use.

“Nice place,” Clarke says, taking off her coat and handing it to Lexa, who hangs it on a coat rack beside her own.

“Thank you.” Lexa heads into the galley kitchen just to the right of the door. “What can I get you to drink? I have beer, wine, whiskey, gin, juice, water…”

“Just a beer is fine. Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure,” she points toward the backside of the apartment. “It's up those stairs there, through the bedroom on the right.”

Up the stairs means three stairs into a raised bedroom partially blocked off by a low wall. The bed is neatly made with a dark red and black comforter set. Clarke heads into the bathroom locking the door behind her. She pulls her phone out of her bag and dials her best friend’s number.

 _“How'd it go?”_ Is Raven’s greeting.

“It's still going,” Clarke admits, trying to keep her voice low.

 _“Oh my god, you're at her place?”_ Raven doesn't give her a chance to respond before she barrels on. “ _Are you gonna sleep with her? You are, aren't you? The first night! I can't believe you, I'm so proud.”_

“Raven, I'm not going to sleep with her,” Clarke hisses.

_“You are such a ho, get it girl. Get that hot ass—”_

“ _No,_  Raven, because unlike _some_ people, I can practice self-control.”

_“Oh burn Griffin, I'm gonna need an ice pack.”_

“I'm just gonna dangle the bait a little.” Clarke leans against the bathroom counter and opens Lexa's medicine cabinet. There's nothing terribly exciting in it, just the regular bathroom necessities. Two half full prescription bottles on the top shelf catch her eye, one she recognizes as treating severe migraines and the other she can't pronounce. She puts them back, careful to arrange them in the same spot.

_“Wait, what's the bait?”_

“I'm the bait, Raven.”

_“Oh, right right. Okay, then what's the plan?”_

 

Out in the living room, Lexa runs through her music library trying to find the right mood music. Normally she might put on something sultry, suggestive, something that raised the tempo. But that won’t work on someone like Clarke. She needs Clarke to fall in love not lust.

“A diamond… Is no one night stand,” she murmurs. The potential campaign runs through her mind. “A diamond is a long-term commitment.” She settles on a soft jazzy song and let's it play through her surround sound, filling the apartment with low background music. As an afterthought she lights several candles.

The bathroom door opens just as she walks up the stairs into the bedroom. Lexa holds out a beer bottle for Clarke to take. They clink them together and drink, quietly watching and waiting for the other to make a move.

Clarke breaks the stare first, dropping her purse on the dresser and sitting down on the bed. She stretches out on her side, keeping herself propped up by her elbow. When Lexa doesn't join her, Clarke pats the bed beside her, invitingly.

Lexa plays dumb, moving to lean on the edge of the dresser instead. Clarke heaves a deep sigh, patting the bed more pointedly, gesturing with her head as well. Lexa mimics her, patting the surface of the dresser beside her.

After a few more fruitless attempts to get Lexa to join her on the bed, Clarke huffs and moves to sit beside her on the dresser. They sip their beers, quietly, listening to the jazz music and the sounds of the street outside the window.

Clarke doesn't know what's holding Lexa back. Maybe she'd misread her savvy confidence (or read it perfectly correct as nothing more than a mask). But if neither of them make a move, they'll just sit there in awkward silence all night and Clarke cannot stand awkward silence. Not to mention she's been lowkey dying to kiss Lexa since the bar.

She takes a deep breath and dives right in, turning and tugging Lexa in with a hand behind her neck. Their lips crash together. Lexa makes a soft sound of surprise, but quickly melts into the kiss, pushing back with equal fervor.

Clarke wonders for a second, if she's ever had a better first kiss. Maybe she's just a bit drunk and way into this ridiculous project, but Lexa's lips are soft and pliant and _warm_ and—gone?

She tries to chase Lexa as she pulls away, but then Lexa's talking, rapidly. “Hey, hey. Let's not go too fast, okay?”

Clarke blinks, licking her lips, eyes flicking between Lexa's eyes and her mouth. “Yeah. Of course, yeah.” Ok maybe she _had_ misread Lexa and this whole situation. She turns away, taking a drink of her beer.

A beat. And then all at once Lexa's lips are on hers again, and Lexa’s hands, both of her hands free, are sliding around and up Clarke's back. Clarke manages to set her beer upright on the dresser without spilling it, before threading her hands into Lexa's curls. Their bodies come together, bringing a moan out of one of them—Clarke isn't even sure who—and their hips knock into the dresser.

Lexa's hands slide down to Clarke's ass and Clarke welcomes it, bucking her hips against Lexa's. With what seems like no effort at all, Lexa has Clarke laid out on the bed in seconds, and moves to straddle Clarke's hips. Clarke's hands roam down Lexa's back, feeling the muscles shift under her fingertips. She wonders what those muscles will feel like with her nails dragging down bare skin.

One of Lexa's hands moves down Clarke's side, settling on her ribs just below the curve of her breast, Lexa's thumb slowly stroking back and forth. Even through the soft fabric of her dress, the touch is electric, sending tingling flurries through her belly. Clarke squirms and bucks her hips and Lexa responds in kind, making a soft noise of appreciation into Clarke's mouth. It's all a bit too much too soon, but it feels _good_ and Lexa’s lips are _amazing_ and it's been too long since Clarke's been with anyone.

But sex is not the reason she's here. The real reason floats just out of reach until she remembers her conversation with Raven.

 _Dangle the bait_.

She needs to stop, retreat a little and make Lexa chase her. Clarke moves her hands to Lexa's shoulders and turns her head out of the kiss. “Wait, wait,” she pants. “We're moving too fast.”

Lexa sits back on her heels, breathing hard and pushing back her hair. “l... you're right.” Her pupils are blown wide and a flush has formed high on her cheekbones and down her neck. It takes everything in Clarke not to pull Lexa back down and attack those kiss swollen lips again. “lt's-it's too fast.” She looks like she doesn't believe a word she's saying and honestly Clarke doesn't really either, but they both know this is for the best.

Clarke swallows, tries to reign in her thirst. “I want you to respect me.”

“I do,” Lexa says immediately, bobbing her head. She makes a point of dragging her gaze from Clarke's lips to meet her eyes. “And I want your respect.”

“I respect you for respecting me.”

“I respect that.” There's a smile tugging at Lexa's lips.

“Good.” Clarke's caught her breath back by now but her heart is still beating too fast. With Lexa sitting up, the only point of contact left is their hips and even that is too much. She nudges Lexa's side to get Lexa to roll off. Before the quiet can get too awkward, Clarke pops up off the bed and announces she should go.

Lexa sits up. “Would you like a ride home?”

Clarke's already pulling her phone out of her purse. “That's sweet, but I'll just call a Lyft. You're already home and comfortable.” She eyes Lexa's rumpled clothes and wild hair a little too appreciatively.

“Before you run off,” Lexa says, getting up. “Can I see you again?”

“Hmm,” Clarke hums, a small smile forming. “That can be arranged…”

The closest ride is only a block away so Clarke leaves Lexa with a lingering kiss at her door, insisting she can make it down the elevator by herself. She's just opening the waiting car door when she hears footsteps on one of the fire escape above.

“Good night, Clarke Griffin.” Lexa's leaning lazily against the railing of her apartment's fire escape platform. She waves and winks even though Clarke's probably too far to see it. _Oh you are already falling in love with me._

Clarke smiles and blows a kiss. _Poor girl,_   _I'm gonna make you wish you were dead_. She gives one last wave before climbing in the car.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days 2-4.

 

Clarke nearly skips into work the next day. She doesn't though, but only because she's carrying a travel tray of coffees and Raven will kill her if she spills hers. She learned that the hard way. Instead she lets a small private smile lift her lips as she makes her way to her desk.

Lexa had been more than she was expecting and she found herself wanting more still. She’s charming and beautiful, it's almost a shame Clarke's job is to drive her away. That cocky attitude though, Clarke might be able to exploit, and the more Clarke digs through the mystery, finds what makes her tick, the faster Clarke will break her. The next week will be fun.

Raven isn't there yet but Monty is so Clarke makes a detour to give him his coffee. He thanks her and gets up to follow her to her desk.

“So? How did the date go?”

Clarke sets the travel tray down before dumping her bag in her chair and taking off her jacket. She can't help the smile growing wider. “It was kind of amazing, actually? As far as first dates go, anyway.”

“So you slept with her then?” It's Raven, trudging past them to sink into her chair. She gratefully accepts the coffee cup Clarke holds out.

“ _No_ Raven, I did not sleep with her, I told you I wouldn't.” She pauses to sit, moving her bag and jacket to the desk. “Though there was some heavy making out.”

“Ha!” Raven crows, triumphantly. Clarke rolls her eyes.

Monty leans his hip against the wall of her cubicle. “Well what's she like?”

Before Clarke can answer a large bouquet of yellow sunflowers bobs into view behind Monty. It's quickly followed by several more delivery men with similar bouquets. The train stops beside their cubicles.

“Clarke Griffin?” When she nods and stands, the man continues. “Delivery for you.”

“Holy shit, Griff,” Raven says, snatching the message card out of the first bouquet before Clarke can. “Wait, hold up— _One hundred times…”_ She grabs the card in the next bouquet as the men set them down in a line on Clarke's desk. “... _More radiant…”_ Then the third bouquet. “... _than one hundred suns.”_ Raven raises her eyebrow. “Catchy.

Clarke takes the cards to read them herself, blushing a little. “She's in advertising.”

“Does this mean she's hooked?” Monty asks, admiring the sunflowers. Clarke smiles at them for a moment—she really does love sunflowers—before a thought occurs to her. A smirk creeps across her face.

“This means she found the Knicks tickets.”

“The tickets?”

Clarke sits back down, laughing. “She's a huge Knicks fan, same as me. We were talking about the playoffs for like an hour last night.”

“And you left the tickets in your purse?” She nods and Raven grins, shaking her head proudly. “You are on a whole ‘nother level, Griffin.”

Clarke pulls her phone out and finds Lexa's contact. She takes a moment to compose herself, hushing Raven and Monty, and hits _CALL_. It rings once, twice and then—

_“Hey pretty girl.”_

“Guess who just got an embarrassing display of flowers in her workplace in front of all her coworkers?” Clarke mock wonders.

 _“I can't imagine who would do such a thing, but she sounds amazing.”_ Lexa says, smoothly. “ _And I'm sure she'd want you to know she had a wonderful time in your company last night.”_

“And I would tell her I did too and I wouldn't mind doing it again.”

 _“Likewise. How about tonight?_ _I can give you the bag you left at my place.”_

Clarke pretends to sigh in relief. “Oh I’m glad you found it! I can't believe I left it there.”

_“It's a good thing I did. We’ll be needing those Knicks tickets for tonight's game.”_

Not even a hint of hesitancy; Clarke likes that. “Mm sounds like you’ve been looking through my purse, Lexa.”

 _“Oh no, never,”_ Lexa insists. _“Anya, my art director, she's a total klutz, she knocked it over and it opened…”_

There's a muffled thump and some mumbled curse words before a deadpan voice in the background says, _“Yeah, my bad.”_

Clarke laughs. “Ok, sure. I'm sorry though, I'm already going to the game with someone else.” She sees Raven quirking her eyebrow in confusion, but Clarke holds her hand up to wait.

 _“Clarke, please,”_ Lexa chuckles. _“Don't try and pretend you didn't leave your purse and those tickets behind on purpose for me to find. Whether consciously or not, you_ want _to take me.”_

In fact she did want to _take_ Lexa, but that had nothing to do with basketball. Her cheeks flush a bit and, worried it will bleed into her tone, she opts for sarcasm. “Does that psycho-babble bullshit really work on anyone?”

Clarke can _feel_ the smirk in Lexa's voice. _“You tell me_.”

She deliberates all of a minute. At Monty's nod of encouragement and Ravens knowing smirk, she makes her decision. “Alright. Meet me outside the 7th Ave entrance. Don't be late.”

 

///

 

More than an hour in and Lexa is having one of the best dates she's had in a very long time. The seats Clarke got are incredible, third row courtside right behind the Knicks’ bench. She's been in Madison Square Garden plenty of times, for games or concerts, even gotten into the suites a couple times, but nothing compares to being down by the court, among thousands of screaming fans, watching her team dominate.

What really makes it the best date however is Clarke, who is as much, if not more, into the game than Lexa is. She's wearing a Knicks jersey (a vintage Patrick Ewing #33, signed by the man himself) and one of those ridiculous giant foam fingers which she’d brought with her, and she's spent nearly the entire game on her feet, screaming herself hoarse.

She’s joined in on chants, yelled _creative suggestions_ to the refs when calls were made, cheered heartily for each point, debated the coaching decisions and tactics. Lexa knew Clarke was a fan, but she’s delighted to see this fanatical energy. It's almost more fun to watch than the game.

The next ten days are going to be a breeze if tonight is any indication. Clarke's smart, funny, passionate, not to mention beautiful. Hell, Lexa would be happy just to listen to Clarke swear at referees for ten days straight.

“Oh bull _shit_ , come on ref are you _blind_?” Clarke's arms are thrown in air, as she shouts more obscenities at the referee. “If you're going to call it, fucking call it both ways!”

Lexa bites back a smile. A timeout is called and as the team's huddle up with their coaches, music fills the arena. They settle back in their seats, Clarke still grumbling about the refs.

Lexa slips her arm around Clarke's shoulders, cutting off her complaints. Clarke glances over, smiling wryly.

“Still glad you came?”

“Oh I'm having a blast so far,” Lexa laughs. “Best date ever.”

“Is that so? Well the night's still young.”

The crowd around suddenly erupts into cheers and they look up to find the kiss cam passing over their section. It focuses on Clarke and Lexa with _KISS!_ emblazoned in glittery red and their faces framed with a heart.

Clarke grins and turns to Lexa, pushing up the brim of Lexa’s snapback so it's out of the way. Lexa leans into her, kissing her soundly. The crowd cheers and the kiss cam moves away to a different unsuspecting couple. Clarke pulls Lexa's hat off and flips it around so it sits backward on Lexa's head.

“That's better.”

Lexa smiles, lazily. “If you say so.” She admires Clarke's eyes, made brighter by her blue jersey, before dropping her gaze back to Clarke's lips. Clarke's still grinning a brilliant smile, a hint of tongue caught between her teeth in a way that makes Lexa’s heart flutter. Something Nia said back at Grounders filters back into her head. _Pretty smile._ It makes Lexa snort and shake her head, _what an understatement._

“What was that?” Clarke says, leaning closer, curious.

Lexa hadn't realized she'd said it out loud. She swallows and doubles down on it. “I said you have a beautiful smile.”

Clarke's eyes turn soft for just a moment before she covers it with teasing exasperation and rolls her eyes. “What a charmer, you are.”

“I try,” Lexa says. She goes back in to resume their kiss but they've barely brushed lips before the arena music cuts off abruptly, signaling the end of the timeout. Clarke hops back up, slipping out of Lexa's reach.

The game resumes and even Lexa gets more fanatical as the time nears the end. The score is close, down to only a couple point difference.

“Hold ‘em, hold ‘em, come on!” Lexa's eyes are fixed on the players so intently she almost doesn't catch Clarke's words.

“Hey Lex, I'm kind of thirsty.”

Lexa nods, absently, still watching the ball. “Yes, yes, go, go! Yes!” The crowd cheers as the Knicks sink a basket. Lexa leans closer to Clarke. “What?”

Clarke tugs on her arm. “I'm so thirsty, do you think you could get me a soda?”

There's a scuffle for the ball on the court that distracts Lexa for a moment, but Clarke's tugging on her arm snaps her back. “Uh sure, there's a minute nine left in the game, then I'll go, okay?”

“I'm parched, I really need something to drink,”  Clarke whines. She drops Lexa's arm. “Whatever, it's fine, I'll go get it.”

“Hey, hey,” Lexa turns instantly, blocking Clarke from passing her. “Wait, I'm sorry. You want it right now?”

Clarke smiles wide, giving Lexa the biggest puppy dog eyes she can muster. Lexa sighs and turns to edge out of their row to the aisle.

“Thank you! No ice please?” Lexa raises a hand to acknowledge her. “Thanks Lex!”

Lexa walks backward up a few stairs, eying the court with frustration before turning and hurrying to the exit. This close to the end of an excitingly close game, the lobby is deserted. Even the concession stands are empty, but for one person wiping down the counter.

Lexa pops in front of him, rapping her knuckles on the counter to get his attention. “Small Coke please, no ice.”

The teenager blinks at her, owlishly. Lexa raises her eyebrows and the boy flushes.

“S—sorry. Coke you said?”

“Yes, no ice please, thank you.”

The boy nods vigorously and goes to make her drink. Lexa moves over to watch the monitor broadcasting the game. Her limbs twitch with the urge to cheer or protest the game on screen, the muffled roar of the crowd making her tense.

“Come on, come on,” she mutters.

Behind her the teens voice squeaks. “Oh, wait did you want a small?”

Lexa turns back to see a large drink waiting on the counter. “No, no that's fine.” She pulls a ten note out of her wallet and drops it on the counter in exchange for the drink. Ignoring the teen’s attempt to give her the change, she grabs the cup and beelines for the arena door.

There's still nearly 30 seconds left in the game when she slides back in beside Clarke, who almost doesn't notice her with how intensely she's hollering at the players.

“Come on, baby, drive into the net! Right there, right there!” Clarke startles when she feels the drink nudge her arm. “Oh, thanks!”

She takes a sip from the cup, impressed with the speed Lexa got it for her. Lexa’s already absorbed in the game again, joining in on the chants around them, the passion sparking in her eyes. Clarke almost feels bad for pushing it further but she has a job to do.

“Lex!” She tugs Lexa’s arm. “Lex, it’s not diet!”

Lexa doesn’t take her eyes from the court. “What?”

“It’s not diet!” Clarke holds the cup up, pleadingly. “Please, Lex, I’m so thirsty.”

Lexa stares at her for a long moment, eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. Clarke tries to look as absolutely pathetic as possible, touching her throat to emphasize her truly _life-threatening_ thirst. The brunette sighs, nodding tightly.

“Yeah, alright.”

“With a lime!” Clarke adds and she thinks she catches a twitch in Lexa’s tense shoulders. She bites her lip, feeling guilty as Lexa scales the steps two at a time, before turning back to watch the game.

The crowd is getting louder as the clock ticks down with the Knicks down by two. They need two points at least to tie the game and force overtime.

The Knicks drive the ball up the court, the final countdown echoing through the arena. Seconds left, they take the shot from outside the three point line—Clarke’s screaming herself hoarse along with everyone around her, the sound deafening—and sink it. Absolutely unbelievable, game-winning shot. Clarke turns to hug Lexa, but she’s not there. She's off dutifully retrieving a drink Clarke didn't even really want and now she's probably stuck momentarily in the lobby, as it floods with the departing crowds.

She finds a text on her phone from Lexa telling her to stay there, so Clarke settles in her seat. While she waits, she changes her phone lock screen to a photo she took at the start of the game. A selfie of the two of them, their cheeks pressed together, eyes bright, smiling for the camera. Lexa's snapback is tilted slightly to the side, her dark hair flowing neatly around one shoulder, while Clarke's falls in golden waves around her face, the ends just barely brushing Lexa's jaw. She can't deny they look good together.

Clarke clicks the lock button, making the screen go dark. This date has been a little _too_ much fun. Too much like a _real_ date. She absolutely cannot go home with Lexa tonight, because she knows she won't be able to keep her hands off of Lexa. Not in that Knicks jersey, those dark jeans that made Lexa's ass look incredible, and the high top chucks extending her already long legs. No, definitely cannot go home with her.

She needs a day to regroup, map out her plan for the week. A day away from Lexa to get these silly fluttery feelings in her gut a chance to settle. A day to remind herself this week is about business and field research, not feelings. Sleeping with Lexa now would only complicate things.

She has to stick to the game plan.

 

///

 

Becca paces around the conference room, slapping folders down in front of each of her employees. “Bullshit, utter bullshit, from each and every one of you.” She links her hands behind her back as she continues to circle. “Come on, we’ve got to do a lot better than _this_ —”

A blaring loud pop song starts playing, making everyone in the room jump. Lexa looks down and does a double take to see _her_ phone lighting up where she has it sitting atop her notebook, Clarke's face filling the screen. Without thinking, Lexa silences it with a quick press of the volume button.

She stares at Clarke's face still flashing on the screen. It's clearly from the basketball game saturday night, she can see the edge of Clarke's Knicks jersey and the stadium behind her. Clarke's making an adorably cute face with her tongue just barely caught between her teeth, her eyes sparkling. She has no idea _when_ Clarke changed her contact photo or set the ringtone though, doesn't even really know _how_ to set a custom ringtone herself honestly.

“Sorry,” Lexa mutters, clearing her throat. Anya and Octavia are giving her shit-eating grins, but Lexa studiously ignores them to listen to Becca continuing her lecture. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the call finally go to voicemail and the screen darkens.

A few minutes later though Lexa's phone lights up again, the same obnoxious song blaring at full blast. It's some boy band that Lexa doesn't know singing about dramatic life-ending teenage love (and _how_ had Clarke done that when Lexa keeps her phone perpetually on vibrate?) with Clarke's face grinning up at her. Lexa scrambles to silence the call again.

“Am I keeping you from something important?” Becca asks, dryly.

Lexa hesitates, because it _is_ Clarke after all and Becca approved the bet. She lifts the phone. “I'm sorry, it's uh—it's Clarke. Do you mind…?”

Becca sighs and waves her hand in the go ahead. “Make it quick.” Nia and Echo open their mouths to protest, but she waves them off. Lexa pushes away from the table, swiping her thumb over the _accept_ button.

“Hello?”

“ _Lexaaaaaa!”_

She flinches away from Clarke's voice, piercing through at full volume, grimacing. Thumbing down the call volume, she turns her chair away from the conference table, ignoring the snickers from her coworkers.

“ _It's meeeee!”_

“Clarke, hi—”

“ _I miss you!”_

Lexa bites her lip. “I miss you too, Clarke. Listen, I'm kind of in the middle of a meeting right now, can I call you back in a little bit?”

“ _I'm sorry, I know you're at work but I couldn't wait. It's so good to hear your voice, sexy Lexy!”_

Lexa flushes, pressing the phone harder to her ear and hoping the volume is low enough that the others can't hear. She'd never live that nickname down.

“It's good to hear your voice too, Clarke.” It actually _is_ , more than she cares to admit, but Lexa isn't about to dwell on that. “Hey, are you busy tonight?”

“ _Uh, no, no I'm not.”_

“I would love to see you. How about we see a movie or something?”

_“A movie? My choice?”_

Lexa smiles. “Your choice.”

_“Oh I'm so excited! I can't wait.”_

“I'll call you later, Clarke, okay?”

Clarke trills out an over enthusiastic goodbye and Lexa finally hangs up. She turns back to the conference table to find her friends still snickering and Nia and Echo looking irritated. Lexa nods to Becca to continue the meeting, making sure to set her phone firmly in silent mode.

 

///

 

“ _Why the hell you wanna be married to me anyhow?_ ” The rain is pouring hard and the characters have to yell to be heard.

“ _So I can kiss you anytime I want._ ”

“Oh I love that line,” Clarke swoons, snuggling closer to Lexa. She has Lexa's whole arm tugged into her lap, hugging it like a pillow, with her head resting on Lexa's shoulders. Even though she's inches from Lexa's ear, her whisper is far too loud for the packed theater.

Lexa was initially surprised to see this many people on a Monday for _Chick Flick Night_ , but she supposes it's a popular date option. Tonight's theme is Reese Witherspoon, with two of her romantic comedies playing back to back. They're into the second one of the night now, _Sweet Home Alabama_ , which Lexa will (grudgingly) admit is one of her favorites.

It seems to be one of Clarke's favorites too, if her enthusiasm and running commentary is any indication.

“Would you wanna marry me just so you could kiss me anytime you wanted?” Clarke asks, innocently.

Lexa nods absently, eyes on the screen. “Of course.” Out of the corner of her eye she sees Clarke staring at her expectantly. She turns with a sweet smile and pecks Clarke's mouth. Clarke hums happily and snuggles back into her side.

The movie plays for a while and Clarke grows a little bored. She watches Lexa instead, admiring her profile and the way the lights from the screen flicker across it.

“What’re you thinking about?” Clarke whispers, a little too loudly. Someone behind them shushes her but Clarke ignores them.

“Nothing. I'm watching the movie.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “But what's on your _mind_?”

“I like this movie.”

“Oh, so your mind is a complete blank?” She bristles, sitting up in her seat, disregarding the angry shushing from the patrons around them. “Who is she?”

Lexa winces at Clarke's loud voice and answers in a barely audible whisper. “Who's who?”

“The girl you're thinking about?”

“Can't hear,” a man sitting behind them hisses.

“I'm not thinking about a girl.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, still not bothering to lower her voice. “You can't watch Reese Witherspoon for two hours and not be thinking about another girl, Lexa.”

The man sitting in the row behind angrily shushes them again, accompanied by several more in the seats surrounding them. Lexa shrinks in her seat, glancing self consciously around the theater. She takes Clarke's hand and leans close to speak directly into her ear.

“You want to know what I'm thinking about?” Clarke takes a deep breath at Lexa's low voice and nods. “I'm thinking about how beautiful you are, Clarke. About your gorgeous eyes…your soft skin…the taste of your lips….”

Clarke shivers at the feel of Lexa's breath tickling her skin. She turns her head to find Lexa still close, eyes on her instead of the screen. It takes no time at all to connect their lips. She thinks she might just forget about the movie entirely and make out with Lexa for the rest of it, but then the man behind them is leaning forward to angrily chastise them.

“I can't _hear_ and now I can't _see_ . _Some_ of us are here to watch a movie!”

Clarke whips around, annoyed at this man's interruption. “Listen, if you don't shut up, my girlfriend is gonna come back there and kick your ass. She knows Krav Maga—”

Lexa tries to pull her back into her seat properly as the crowd grumbles loudly. “Clarke—”

The man turns to address Lexa. “Why don't  you slap a muzzle on your bitch here next time you go out, huh?”

“What?” Clarke nearly shrieks, scrambling out of her seat, actually angry now. “What was that?”

This is getting so far out of hand, but Lexa can't ignore that kind of insult. “Hey now that's—”

The man stands up, suddenly towering over them. “Alright, outside. Right now.” The audience cheers at this, happy the noise will finally be leaving and they can watch the rest of the movie in peace.

They exit the theater trailing behind the man angrily stomping into the lobby. He doesn't seem particularly muscular, just heavyset, but he's more than a foot taller than Lexa and twice as wide. Lexa rolls her shoulders, trying to maintain a confident, commanding air. She's not planning to fight, but she _will_ get him to apologize.

Clarke dances beside her, desperately trying to dissuade her from confronting the man.  “Lex, Lex, wait—” She tugs on Lexa's arm. “He's _huge_ Lexa, don't fight him.”

“I'm not going to fight him,” Lexa insists, raising her hand placatingly. “But he owes you an apology, Clarke.” She manages to extract her arm from Clarke's grip and turns to the large man waiting expectantly. “Now look, what you said back there was not—”

The rest of her sentence is cut off as the man blindsides her with a solid right hook. It sends her spinning to the ground, her vision full of dancing stars. Clarke gasps and tries to catch her, only partially managing it. She stumbles and falls against the wall, sliding down to the floor with Lexa in her lap.

The man takes two steps till he's towering over them again. Clarke looks up at him, legitimately scared for a moment, but the man just sniffles, and says in a trembling voice, “I apologize for what I said in the theater. Reese Witherspoon just makes me very emotional.” He cradles his hand, wincing. Clarke guesses he's probably never thrown a punch before. “Now I'm going back in there to finish the movie. Nobody mess with me.” With that, the man turns and marches back into the theater.

Clarke stares after him, incredulously. She can hardly believe how fast that escalated. _Well at least he apologized to me. But Lexa, poor Lexa_ —the woman groans in her lap, hand fluttering up to feel the bruise that's rapidly forming on her cheekbone. Clarke shifts her hold so she can bat Lexa's hand away.

“Hey, hey, don't touch it.” Clarke brushes Lexa's hair out of her face, pushing it behind her ear.

“Fuck _me—_ ”

“Oh Lex, are you okay?”

“ _Fuck—_ ” Lexa hisses in pain as Clarke gently probes the swelling, inspecting the damage. She cracks her eyes open when she registers Clarke saying her name again. “What?”

“I said maybe we should get you to a hospital Lexa—”

“No, no, no, no,” she immediately protests, burrowing her face into Clarke's body to escape Clarke's fingers. She winces at the movement and _fuck_ wincing hurts more so she focuses on relaxing her face.

“You could have a concussion or something—” Clarke looks around the deserted lobby, stunned that no employee had noticed the small scuffle and come to investigate. They _are_ in a somewhat secluded corner though, out of sight of the concession stand. She shifts to try to see around the corner. “Hey, excuse me!” Nobody answers her call immediately, so she prepares to call again but Lexa's squirming in her arms, trying to shush her.

“Ow, ow, Clarke, hold—can you hold still? Fuck, just—” Lexa reaches up to hold the back of Clarke's elbow to keep her in place and she suddenly realizes her face is perfectly aligned with Clarke's breasts. “This is nice, just—stop moving.”

“Lex…” Clarke says, still concerned, but she notices the way Lexa is fighting a smile and how her cuddling has little to do with her hurt face now. “ _Lexa_.”

She loses her battle against grinning at Clarke's sharp tone, ignoring the twinges of pain at the motion. The initial shock and pain has mostly worn off anyway leaving just a dull ache. Not that she'll tell Clarke that though. When Clarke tries to shift her away, Lexa only tightens her hold and nudges her nose deeper into Clarke's breasts. “I'm starting to feel better—”

“Lexa—” Clarke's laughing now, relieved that Lexa is okay enough to be cheeky. “Oh my god, you are _fine_. Jesus.” She pushes Lexa's shoulders. “Get up, you're totally fine.”

“No, no,” Lexa protests weakly, trying to keep her hold on Clarke only half heartedly through her own laughter. “I'm hurt, have mercy on me.”

Clarke gets to her feet, tugging Lexa up with her. “Come on Rocky, let's get you some ice.”

“Mm, ice cream sounds better.”

“Well, we’ll get you some of that too, champ.” Even though they both know it's unnecessary, Clarke hooks Lexa's arm around her shoulder, wrapping hers around Lexa's waist to support her. Lexa plays along, more than happy to have an excuse to lean against Clarke, a warmth spreading through her chest.

“Clarke, you know I don't actually know Krav Maga, right?”

 

///

 

“Yikes.”

“Right?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not so much anymore, just if I touch—” Lexa cuts off with a hiss as Anya presses her thumb to the ridge of her cheekbone. She swats her away. “Ouch, _don't.”_

Anya chuckles, strolling back to her desk to sit down. “Hey don't feel bad. If I had a nickel for every time I got into a fist fight at a chick flick…”

Lexa sighs, moving around her desk to sit. She uses the darkened screen of her phone as a mirror to look at the mark on her cheek. Makeup covered most of the uglier bruising, but it still showed to anyone looking. “It really wasn't that bad.”

“Really?” Octavia says as she walks back in carrying two mugs of coffee. She sets one down on Lexa's desk before moving to her own.

Lexa thanks her, taking a welcome sip of caffeine. “Yeah, I mean getting blindsided by that asshole sucked obviously, but the getting taken care of _after_ the punch? That was nice.”

Anya grins. “Ah, that Florence Nightingale syndrome, huh?”

“Clarke was a certified paramedic before she went back for her masters,” Lexa says, rolling her eyes.

“Whatever, so you want me to tape the game tonight, or what?”

Lexa doesn't answer, instead picking up her phone to unlock it. Clarke's face shines up from the background—another photo from the basketball game, this one of her making a kissing face close to the camera. Lexa had found a dozen such selfies in her photo library. Normally she kept her phone background and lockscreen some neutral stock image, but Clarke insisted she change them and Lexa wasn't exactly in a position to argue.

Besides, she likes the picture anyway.

There's already a dozen messages from Clarke just since this morning. Lexa sighs. Clarke is _chatty_ and likes to text Lexa any little thing that pops into her head all day long. She hasn't quite gotten used to it yet. Usually she only texts short, concise messages, and prefers to call when it's an option.

She scrolls through the new texts—Clarke had apparently spotted a dog on the subway on her way to work that morning and had given her a detailed play by play of it's movements until her stop—before typing out a response. Clarke responds nearly immediately and they text back and forth for a bit, a smile absently forming on Lexa's face.

Octavia rolls her chair over to Anya's desk, crossing her forearms on the surface. “Hey,” she glances over to see Lexa still engrossed in her text conversation, but keeps her voice low anyway. “Check out those heart eyes. How long since she met this girl?”

“It's only day _four_ ,” Anya says, flatly.

“I mean I thought she was trying to get the girl to fall in love with _her_ not the other way around.”

“She's a method actor. She's got her head in the game, don't worry.” Anya balls up a piece of paper and lobs it at Lexa's head. It bounces perfectly off the center of Lexa's forehead, startling her and making Octavia cheer. “Hey nerd, stop sexting your girl and answer my question. Do you need me to tape the game or not?”

Lexa rubs her forehead, glaring. “I was not _sexting_ . And _no_ I don't need you to do that because I will be watching the game at home tonight.”

“Alone? Maybe you _should_ sext your girl,” Anya mutters.

Lexa throws the paper ball back at her, but Anya easily bats it away. “For your information, Clarke is coming over tonight. I'm cooking.”

Octavia whistles. “Oh, bringing out the big guns.”

“Women love it when you cook for them, right? She won't even notice she's falling in love.” Lexa leans back in her chair, threading her fingers behind her head. She tries to feel confident in her seduction skills, but mostly she feels a flutter in her belly at the idea.

 

Across town, Clarke sets her phone down, fighting a smile. Despite the fact that texting Lexa is _sort of_ part of her job right now, she does have other work to do and texting is too distracting. She actually quite enjoys talking to Lexa, she's funny and sweet and they share enough common interests for conversation to flow easily. Clarke almost forgets sometimes that she's _supposed_ to be driving Lexa away.

“Talking to the bae?” Raven asks, leaning over the cubicle wall with a smirk.

“If you're referring to _Lexa,_ yes I was. She's invited me over for dinner tonight.”

“Oh sounds romantic!” Monty says, popping up next to Raven.

“Yeah yeah,” Clarke rolls her eyes. “I've got a few things planned.”

“I still can't believe you got that girl knocked out,” Raven says, shaking her head.

Clarke feels guilty, but also kind of amused at how the night played out. “I told you it was only for a second.” Her eyes turn dreamy as she glances at the bouquet of sunflowers still sitting on her desk, thinking of Lexa. “Honestly though, she was so cute, she played it up the whole night. Let me fuss over her and feed her ice cream on a spoon.” She trails off, smiling to herself. 

Raven snickers. “Are you dating her, or contemplating adoption?”

“Shut up,” Clarke laughs, throwing a pen at her, which Raven dodges.

“Working hard my dear employees?” Callie says as she breezes past their cubicles. They mumble affirmatives, Raven and Monty slinking quickly back to their own desks. “Clarke, I'm loving the notes on this piece. When are you seeing her again?”

“Uh, tonight. She's making dinner.”

Callie smiles and taps her fingers on the edge of the cubicle wall. “Excellent, I've got a good feeling about this one!”

“Thank you, Callie.” Her boss nods and strides away. Clarke sighs, sinking down in her chair a bit. She'd been… _selective_ in her notes to Callie. She hadn't mentioned how unflappable Lexa was or how she only seemed to be charmed by Clarke's eccentricities, not irritated. Hadn't mentioned Clarke herself being charmed right back.

She would have to step up her game tonight.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days 5-6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chap ready to go for like. months. I hadn't realized it'd been so long. My bad. Life, ya know? 
> 
> Anyway, shenanigans are heating up kids, enjoy.

Clarke arrives at Lexa's place early, carrying a box of supplies, ready to get to work. Lexa steps out of the galley kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel, just as Clarke shuts the door behind her.

“Hello Clarke,” Lexa smiles, stepping close to greet her with a kiss. She's wearing an apron overtop a dark plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows exposing toned forearms. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but wisps have escaped to frame her face, no doubt from the cooking heat. She manages to look both casual and put together, a skill Clarke greatly admires.

“Hey,” Clarke says, trying to tamper down the blush she feels warming her cheeks. She makes sure to keep the box somewhat out of sight without being obvious about it. If Lexa notices, she makes no comment.

Lexa turns to head back into the kitchen. “Go ahead and pour yourself a glass of wine, dinner’s just about ready.”

“Great, I'm starving,” Clarke says, moving to the dining table. Her breath catches a little at the beautiful display laid out. Fine dishes and polished silverware for two, arranged neatly around one corner, a modest bouquet of wildflowers in the center flanked by candles, atop a rich white tablecloth.

Romantic indeed.

Clarke shakes herself, remembering her plan and the box in her hands. She moves into the living area of the apartment first to set up her phone with Lexa's stereo. Raven helped her make a playlist earlier that day just for this occasion, full of the most sickly sweet love songs they could find. The soft piano music Lexa had been streaming cuts off abruptly, replaced with a late 80s synth ballad played just a couple levels too loud.

Then she starts arranging her _gifts_ around Lexa's apartment.

A collection of Valentine's Day themed teddy bears she'd found at a thrift store, goes on the couch, each clutching stuffed hearts with cutesy words written on them. Lexa already seems to have a fondness for candles, but Clarke replaces those on the bookcase and end tables with overtly suggestive scents.  _Wild Passion Fruit. Cherry Popper. Pleasure Berry._

Clarke moves into Lexa’s bedroom area next. Across Lexa's dark comforter set, she spreads a violently hot pink, fluffy duvet with a large photo printed of them from the basketball game framed inside a heart. More stuffed animals and throw pillows are piled on top. Framed photos of herself go on both of Lexa's side tables and atop her dresser.

The monetary cost of this project is getting a little ridiculous, but she's committed at this point.

Lexa's in the living room, examining the new couch additions when Clarke makes it back to the dining area, carrying the last item from her box.

“I uh, I see you brought some stuff,” Lexa says, bewildered. “I…these are—um” she clears her throat. “And the new duvet on the bed—” She looks a bit lost in her own apartment.

Clarke has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing. She hasn't seen Lexa this flustered and honestly it's _adorable_ . “Oh you know, I just wanted to add a touch of _me_ around here.”

Lexa bobs her head, brows furrowing. “Of—of course. I want you to uh—to feel at home. Um, what's that in your hands?”

“It's a baby fern.”

“Oh yeah?”

Clarke draws closer, holding out the plant for Lexa to take. “Just like our relationship,” she murmurs, reverently. “A helpless little baby in need of tender loving care.”

Leda stares at her for a long moment, perhaps waiting for the punchline, but Clarke keeps her face utterly sincere. “Right, well thank you, Clarke.” She sets the fern on a table. “Dinners ready, if you'd like to sit down.”

As Clarke does that, finally pouring herself a glass of wine, Lexa moves to the TV mounted on the wall. She flicks it on and angles it to be easily seen from the table.

“Games about to start,” Lexa says, turning the volume down to be heard, but not too loud to drown out their dinner conversation. “Let's see the starting line up for the New York Knicks…” She stands there a moment, eyes flickering over the team stats scrolling across the screen, before turning back to grin at Clarke. “Front row seats for Game Two!”

She claps her hands and hurries into the kitchen to bring dinner out. The dish is still steaming slightly as she carries it, but it smells heavenly.

“Dinner is served,” Lexa announces, proudly. “Woods family special. Lamb with a cherry glaze.” She sets the dish carefully on the table and starts to dish out first Clarke's plate, then her own, following with mixed vegetables.

It takes Lexa a second to notice Clarke's trembling shoulders, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes squeezed shut as if she's _crying—_

She immediately sets the dish aside and crouches down beside her, touching her arm gently. “Hey, hey, Clarke, what is it?”

Clarke turns to her, looking mournful, her face still crumpled. “It's beautiful.”

“Thank you…” Lexa says, uncertain, because Clarke still looks on the verge of _tears_ and she has no idea _why._

“You're beautiful,” Clarke continues, pausing a moment to caress Lexa's cheek. “All this, the game, the dinner, the whole thing…I just…” She turns back to the table, letting out a loud sob. “I wish I ate meat!”

Lexa's mouth opens and closes, uselessly. How had she not known that? She hadn't asked, but they'd had seafood the night they met, hadn't they? Maybe that didn't count.

Clarke starts singing _Mary Had A Little Lamb_ softly in the saddest most tear choked voice imaginable. She picks up her plate and pushes it into Lexa’s hands. “I'm so sorry, but you need to take this away before I gag.”

Lexa stands slowly and wordlessly carries it and the rest of the food back into the kitchen.

 

They end up at a vegan restaurant downtown (apparently Lexa's apartment _smelled_ too much like meat right now and needed to air out). Lexa's still not sure how the night turned so rapidly or how they ended up in this little hole in the wall place instead of her cozy, _private_ apartment, eating her amazing cooking.

There's a good reason Lexa is not a vegan and that's because she does not particularly _like_ vegan food. Still, she's trying to make the best of it, even if she did think whatever it is she ordered is for _cows_.

She checks her phone for the hundredth time but the news app still will not load. Somehow they managed to land in a cell dead zone and the place seems to have no wifi either. She's missing _game two_ of the playoffs and she can't even check the score. They _could_ be watching it on her flat screen at home, but _no_ —

She's startled out of her mental rant by Clarke's hand touching her shoulder as she returns to her seat.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Clarke's gotten up three times to go to the restroom and Lexa's starting to worry a bit.

“Oh, it's nothing, it's just a little indigestion,” Clarke shakes her head, dismissively. She picks up her fork and stabs aimlessly at her bowl.

“Are you sure?” Lexa touches her arm gently, still concerned, but Clarke waves her off again with a placating smile.

“Excuse me, is everything alright with the barley?” They look up to see the waitress, frowning down at Clarke's barely touched food.

“No, yeah everything's…” Clarke starts, shaking her head, smiling politely, but after a moment her head drops and her shoulders start to shake. She slams her fork down in the table with a loud _THWACK_ , making Lexa jump. “My girlfriend thinks I'm _fat!_ ”

“What—” Lexa reels back, but Clarke cuts her off in a rising voice.

“And I can't eat in front of her!” She whirls on Lexa, violently pointing with her fork. “I can't _eat_ in front of you! I have to go to the bathroom.” She shoves away from the table and storms away.

“ _Clarke_ , I don't think you're—” but Clarke's already gone and everyone in the restaurant is staring incredulously at Lexa. “I _don't_ think she's _fat_.” The patrons mutter under their breath as they go back to their meals, shooting her sidelong looks. Lexa slumps in her seat, resting her forehead on her hand.

This night is a _disaster._

 

In the back of the restaurant, Clarke ducks past the restroom door and through the entrance to the kitchens. The dishwashing boy, Raphael, greets her with a grin and hands her the half eaten bacon cheeseburger she's been steadily working on all night. The rest of the kitchen crew are focused on the small TV mounted on the wall playing the Knicks game.

“How we doing, boys?”

“We’re down by two,” Daniel, one of the line cooks, mutters, his arms crossed and his body tense. “20 seconds left. Knicks’ ball.”

Clarke joins the group huddled under the TV, taking a huge bite of her cheeseburger. “Get the ball, come on!” Her voice is muffled by too much food but the kitchen staff hardly notice, too caught up in throwing their own complaints out.

“Throw it!”

“Oh, come on man!”

“No, no that was _in!”_

“Ah man!”

Time begins to wind down and Clarke forgets about the burger in her hands. Forgets about Lexa waiting for her out in the restaurant. “Come on, get the ball back! Get it back! Augh, no!” The announcers on screen declare the end of the game as time runs out, moving on to post game commentary.

The staff deflates at the loss, reluctantly moving back to their kitchen duties. Clarke takes one more huge bite of her burger before handing it back to Raphael.

She pats his back as she goes to leave. “Next game.”

 

Lexa hurries them out of the elevator when they make it to her floor. She’s not quite running, but her hand is solid and insistent at Clarke’s back. As soon as they make it inside her apartment, Lexa’s throwing her jacket in the direction of the dining table and flicking the TV on, no doubt hoping to catch the game highlights.

Clarke moves slower, taking her time removing her jacket and setting her purse down on the table. “Well, that was fun. Sorry we missed the game.”

Her words fall on deaf ears though, as Lexa is completely absorbed in the game highlights on the screen. “Post, post. Reverse it! Yes, there we go.”

Clarke strolls around and sits down on the couch, watching the highlights with a frown. The game nears the end as the announcer updates the time and score, and Houston takes the ball down the court for one final shot. She still feels the sting of disappointment from watching it live earlier so keenly that she can’t help but grumble, “Oh I can’t _believe_ he missed that shot.”

Lexa doesn’t hear her at first, too engrossed in the action, unaware of what’s coming. “Take it, take it! Pitch!” The shot bounces off the rim and the Kings take it up as the time winds down. “Ah! Damn it!” Lexa collapses back on the couch, frustrated. The announcer recaps the end of the game and moves on to discussing the Knicks’ prospects in the rest of the series.

Lexa rubs at her temples, feeling a headache coming on. “How the hell did you know he was going to miss that shot?”

 _Oops_. Clarke’s eyes widen and she scrambles to cover, waving vaguely at the TV. “He always misses...the shot—from the top of the key.”

“What? Houston never misses from the top of the key.” Lexa stares at her, brows furrowed incredulously. “Clarke, you’ve been acting strange all niii—ght,” she sputters to a halt as Clarke abruptly throws her leg over Lexa's lap, straddling her. “Oh, uh—”

“Let's have sex,” Clarke says, brightly, before crashing their mouths together in a furious kiss.

It's...nothing like that first night, is Lexa's first thought. It's sloppy and borderline uncomfortable with how Clarke shoves her tongue immediately into Lexa's mouth. There are teeth scraping her lip and clashing against her own too hard to feel good. At some point Clarke pulls the tie from Lexa’s hair so she can dig her fingers into it. Clarke's hands are insistent, one gripping her hair too tightly and the other sliding down to palm roughly at her breast.

And sure Lexa can _do_ rough, can _thrive_ on rough, but only with the proper buildup of sexual tension beforehand and a comfortable level of trust between her and her partner. Right now all Lexa feels is frustration from an utterly shit night and a headache that's quickly turning into a migraine.

“Wait—” she turns her face out of the kiss, painfully considering the tight grip on her hair, her hands moving up from Clarke's hips to her shoulders. “I thought you wanted to go slow?”

“Mm, I don't wanna go slow right now,” Clarke pants, diving down to suck eagerly at Lexa's neck, aiming to leave a mark. Despite herself, Lexa groans softly and tilts her head away to give Clarke greater access because her neck is _sensitive_ and Clarke's begun grinding her hips down against hers. Lexa drops her hands back down to Clarke's hips, trying to slow her movements.

“ _Clarke_.” Lexa gasps at teeth scraping roughly along her neck to the junction of her shoulder. She squeezes Clarke's hips, trying futilely to get them to halt.

Clarke pulls back, sliding both her hands to the collar of Lexa's button up. “Sexy Lexy, I wanna rip all your clothes off.” She undoes the first button and then without warning, pulls hard on the flaps of Lexa's shirt, ripping through the rest.

“Whoa—hey!” Lexa yelps. This is one of her favorite shirts and now half the buttons are torn off. Clarke ignores her protests and starts to shove the now open shirt over Lexa's shoulders, despite the fact that the ends are still tucked into her jeans. Before Lexa realizes it, her shirt is pulled down far enough to pin her arms to her sides.

She's got nothing but her black bra underneath, which Clarke quickly takes advantage of, running her hands over Lexa's collarbone and down her chest.

Lexa swallows hard, clenching her jaw. She could get into this. Clarke's stupidly attractive and Lexa's stupidly attracted _to_ her so despite everything her body is still up for this even if her head is bit behind. Maybe if Clarke slowed down and stopped _talking_ god _,_ what was she even saying?

“Your skin's so soft, like a baby's butt,” Clarke whispers in Lexa's ear before biting at her earlobe. “I wanna dive into your lady cave and explore your buried treasure.”

Lexa wrinkles her nose a bit. She's not particularly into dirty talk, but that was just objectively _bad_.

“Clarke. Clarke, wait—” She shifts around till her shirt loosens and allows her hands to reach up and cup Clarke's jaw. “Just—” She kisses Clarke slowly and deeply, trying to ease their frantic pace. It seems to work for a moment, the strange nervous energy thrumming through Clarke starts to dissipate as she sinks into the kiss. It works until Lexa slides a hand down Clarke's chest to run gently over her breast.

Clarke jolts back, the nervous frantic energy fueling her again so quickly it makes Lexa's head spin. She grabs both of Lexa's hands and plants them squarely on her breasts. “Aren't my boobs amazing? Don't you wanna just motorboat them? I want you to name them.”

“W-what?”

Clarke jerks Lexa's hands up in the air. “You don't get to touch them until you name them.”

Lexa frowns, blinks hard and Clarke has to bite her lip at how adorable Lexa's confusion is. “Um. I. Um.”

Before she can sputter out a coherent response, Clarke leans in close to whisper into Lexa's ear. “I'm your subject, Commander. I'm waiting for your command.”

Lexa's mouth drops open. She thinks her head might burst into flames at any second with how hot her cheeks _burn_ at that name. Where did Clarke _hear_ that? Did she make it up or did she _know_? God—

This whole night has been awful and this, whatever _this_ is they've been doing is not any better. Lexa thinks she'd rather cut her losses at this point before they ruin this relationship altogether.

“Clarke, _no_ ,” Lexa groans, pushing Clarke's hips to get her to roll off. As soon as Clarke is seated comfortably beside her on the couch, Lexa stands and begins to pace, pulling the flaps of her ruined shirt together.

“Pumpkin, what's wrong?” Clarke grabs one of the stuffed animals she’d propped up on the couch earlier that evening and hugs it to her chest.

“I just—” Lexa starts, crossing her arms defensively. “That wasn't—I wasn't feeling that.”

Clarke uses the arm of the stuffed bunny to wave at her. “Don't you wanna play with me, Commander?”

“Where did you even—?” Lexa clenches her jaw, her face hot. She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. “You know what? I think the _Commander_ is starting to get a migraine.”

“Oh well in that case…” Clarke says, jumping up from the couch. “I’d better get going.” She skips forward to peck Lexa on the cheek, pressing the stuffed bunny into her hands, before grabbing her purse and heading for the door. “Take care of our love fern, honey.” And with one final cheerful wave, Clarke’s gone.

The apartment echoes in the silence of Clarke’s sudden departure. Lexa breathes deeply in through her nose, her hands slowly tightening around the neck of the stuffed animal. Her muscles tense and in a burst of frustration, she launches the bunny as hard as she can at the closed front door. It falls just short, bouncing harmlessly across the hardwood to rest on her welcome mat.

She closes her eyes and mentally counts to ten, letting the irritation from this disaster of a night dissipate. Okay, she just has to shake it off. One bad game didn’t lose the series. Tomorrow would be another day, another chance to woo Clarke and have her fall madly in love. No problem.

 

Clarke nearly collapses against the wall of the elevator as she steps in. Well, she said she would step up her antics tonight and boy did she commit. Her face still burns with embarrassment at her purposely botched attempt at dirty talk. Raven is going to lose it when she hears.

Kissing Lexa like that had _not_ been part of the plan though, and she’d nearly broke right then. Even being sloppy and too rough, kissing Lexa was _too_ good and sent tingles all throughout her body. She still feels the residual phantom touch of her soft lips, the feel of muscles clenching beneath her— _God_. She needs a cold shower.

The elevator doors ding finally and slowly start to close. From the hallway there’s the sound of a door opening and a sudden pounding of running feet towards the elevator, before a hand snakes in the gap at the last second, preventing them from closing. The doors slowly open to reveal Lexa, panting slightly, shirt still hanging open. She leans forward, planting her hands on the elevator frame, stopping the doors from closing again.

“Hi,” Lexa says, softly.

Clarke’s eyes are wide and she feels almost faint at the sight of Lexa. She’s afraid she’ll say something stupid like _kiss me_ or _take me right now in this elevator or so help me_ —she keeps her mouth shut.

Luckily it's Lexa who speaks. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

Clarke blinks in disbelief. After _that_ date— “Really?”

“I hope so.”

Lexa looks far too alluring right now, arms spread against the elevator doors, bra clad chest on display with the hint of a tattoo down the side of her ribs, that infuriatingly charming confidence back in full force. Clarke needs to get out of here or she’s going to ruin everything.

She puts her own confident smirk on, though she feels anything but. “Of course. Call me.”

Lexa nods, smiling. “I will.” She straightens up, letting go of the doors and allowing them to slowly close again. “Tomorrow.”

“And I’ll call you!” Clarke bursts out. “Answer your phone!”

“Sweet dreams,” Lexa calls just as the doors close at last.

This time Clarke really does collapse against the elevator wall, groaning. This assignment just might be the death of her.

 

///

 

Lexa paces, hands clasped behind her back, frowning deeply at the whiteboard. It's covered in a messy collection of brainstorming notes for the Jaha Diamonds pitch, but so far nothing much is coming from it.

Behind her Octavia is pouring through word associations, reading off synonyms and definitions, hoping something sparks an idea. Anya is leaned back in her chair, tossing a ball in the air, vetoing everything Octavia offers.

Lexa sighs, running her thumbs under the thin straps of her suspenders, resisting the urge to fuss with her hair. She'd pulled it back into a bun to get it out of her face, precisely so she couldn't indulge the anxious habit. She crosses her arm, sitting on the edge of her desk. “Let's take a break, yeah? We're not getting anywhere like this.”

Octavia and Anya agree with a relieved sigh. A buzzing in Lexa's pocket alerts her to an incoming text, but when she pulls it out—yep, Clarke, _again_ —she merely sets it aside with a quiet groan. Just yesterday she found Clarke’s constant texting endearing, but today it's approaching exhausting. Her migraine from the night before hasn't quite dissipated yet, leaving her with a dull ache right behind her eyes, and she's in no mood to humor Clarke.

Anya catches her avoidance. “What's up? Trouble in paradise?”

Lexa rolls her eyes and moves around to sit heavily at her desk, dropping her head in her hands. “Clarke’s driving me _crazy_ . Last night was one of the worst dates I've ever had and she's been _acting_ so, I don't know—”

“Wait a second,” Octavia interrupts, turning around and leaning an arm on the back of her chair. “I thought you said after the Knicks game she was a goddess or whatever.”

“Oh she was,” Lexa says, unhappily. “No, that was the _good_ Clarke. The amazing, funny, sexy Clarke. _This,_ this is like I don't even know, _evil_ Clarke or something. Like crack addict desperate housewife Clarke.”

Anya rolls her chair over to Lexa's desk so she can pat her arm awkwardly. “That's rough, buddy. Did you sleep with her at least?”

“No.”

“Seriously? It's day _six_.”

Lexa shoots her a glare. “We got close the first night, but we agreed to take things slow. Then last night Clarke seemed to want to, but I—” she drops her head back into her hands. “I don’t know, it was _weird_ and I was getting a migraine from the whole shit evening and it just felt off. So we stopped and she left.”

“Is that why she’s been blowing up your phone today?” Anya nods at Lexa’s phone, lit up from yet another text.

Lexa barely glances at it. “I don’t _know_ . She seems fine about it, but she’s hard to read sometimes. I mean I _think_ she’s falling for me, but…”

Anya taps Lexa’s desk to get her attention. “Hey, you’re doing fine, you just gotta rock this for a few more days, right?”

Lexa nods her head, squaring her shoulders. Five days, she could do that, right? She could endure a bit of erratic behavior just a bit longer for the sake of her career.

“Yeah. You're right, I got this. No problem.”

“I should hope so because—” Octavia starts, but before she can finish there's an ear splitting—

“ _Muffin!_ ”

—from the doorway to their office that makes everyone jump.

Of course it's Clarke, dressed like some 50s housewife out for a shopping spree and looking positively ecstatic. Behind her the frazzled receptionist stands hopelessly trying to stop her but Lexa knows even from her limited experience that Clarke on a mission won't be stopped.

Lexa gets up to greet her, shooting the poor receptionist an apologetic smile. “Hey Clarke, I didn't know you knew where I worked?” She thinks she might have mentioned the company name in passing, but she can't remember.

“It's called Google, sweetie,” Clarke giggles, accepting Lexa's cheek kiss. “I just wanted to drop by and see you, my little muffin, I missed you.”

Lexa groans internally, already dreading the teasing she'll have to endure for the rest of the day. “Ah, of course. Well I'm—I'm glad you stopped by.” She turns to find Anya and Octavia standing nearby wearing barely suppressed shit-eating grins. Sighing, Lexa introduces them.

“Hi, hello there,” Octavia says, stepping forward to shake Clarke’s hand. “Big fan.”

“How are you?” Anya follows, somehow managing to sound sincere. “You look gorgeous.”

“Oh thank you,” Clarke smiles, politely, absently smoothing down her khaki colored dress. “Lexie Wexie has told me so much about you two!”

Anya bites her lip, barely suppressing her laughter as she ignores Lexa's death glare. “Well, Lexie Wexie’s said many wonderful things about you, too.” Octavia has to bite down on her fist to keep herself from cackling behind her.

Clarke waves off the compliment, and threads her arms around Lexa's waist. “Oh, they don't look so simple-minded, honey.” That wipes the grins off Anya and Octavia's faces right quick. “Oh! Look what I got for us!” Clarke moves out of Lexa's arms to unzip her large shoulder bag.

Out pops a small scruffy dog, with dark mottled fur and black beady eyes. It's wearing a little plaid dog sweater, perfectly matching the red and tan pattern of Clarke's scarf.

“Whoa,” Lexa exclaims as Clarke presses the squirming dog into her hands. “Look at that, wow.” She shifts the dog around, trying to get a comfortable hold on it against her chest. It settles after a moment, trembling slightly. Lexa supposes it could be cute if it weren't for the thick bushy eyebrows making it look permanently grumpy. “What-what is it?”

“It's a Miniature Norwegian Lundehund, of course,” Clarke says, as if it should be obvious. She scratches at the dog’s ears, coaxing a whine out of it.

“No kidding, Miniature Norwegian Lundehund.” She's never even _heard_ of that, but then she's only ever been a fan of larger breeds.

“So it's like a dog, right?” Anya deadpans, leaning in for a closer look. Clearly she's never heard of the breed either. As if in response, the dog pops it's head up and yelps at Anya, sending her reeling back.

“Little Commander Rexa,” Clarke says, fondly, scratching the dog's ears again.

Lexa flushes red, remembering the night before. “Oh. Well, sure that's-thats clearly what...yeah.” Clarke grins teasingly at her and Lexa starts to relax until she suddenly feels something warm spread across her stomach. “Whoa-whoa!” She thrusts the dog away from her body sending the rest of the dog’s _accident_ onto the floor, but the damage to her shirt is done. “Shit, okay.” The dog is whimpering pathetically, still in her outstretched hands while Anya and Octavia laugh uproariously.

“Oh, I'm sorry sweetie, he's not quite potty trained yet.” Clarke takes Rexa and sets him on the pool table nearby before beginning to rummage through her bag.

“It's fine, it's fine, no problem,” Lexa says, grabbing some tissues to blot at the wet stain. Thank _god_ she has a rack full of shirts already in the office. She pushes her suspenders off her shoulders and starts to unbutton her shirt.

“Lucky I brought _this_ for you!” Clarke spins around in triumph, holding something in her hands. It turns out to be a tan and red plaid button up shirt, perfectly matching Clarke and Rexa’s outfits.

“Oh, you-you brought, for me?” Lexa stutters. She takes the shirt, holding it up to see the size, hoping for the wrong one to give her an excuse not to wear it. No dice. “Wow yeah, this will fit nicely. Thank you.”

“It matches!” Clarke points out, needlessly. “Put it on.”

Reluctantly, and very aware of Anya and Octavia’s gleeful smirks, Lexa slips off her soiled shirt and puts the new one on. The cheap fabric is stiff and scratchy, but she ignores it as she buttons it up and pulls her suspenders back over her shoulders. “Yeah, this is-this is nice.”

“It's like the inside of a raincoat,” Octavia mutters, which sends her and Anya into silent giggles.

“You are a _vision_ in khaki,” Anya adds, breathlessly.

Lexa shoots them both warning glares before turning to Clarke. “Thank you, honey.”

Clarke smiles, hugging her arms around Lexa's waist again. “We're going to be a happy little family. Just the three of us.” She rests her head against Lexa's chest and looks at Rexa sniffing at the green felt of the pool table.

“We are, aren't we?” Clarke, Lexa, and a little dog. That...didn't sound so bad actually.

“He's our boy, Lexa.”

Alright maybe that was a little much, but Lexa could handle this for five more days. Probably.

As they watch, Rexa sniffs around the table a bit more before lifting his leg.

“Whoa!” Anya hurries forward in horror. It was funny when it was _Lexa_ getting peed on, but _not_ her precious pool table. “No, no, no.”

“We just need to get this rascal potty trained,” Clarke giggles. “Come here, little tinkle king!”

“He is a tinkle king,” Lexa agrees, amused at Anya's disgust.

Clarke gathers the dog up in her arms, cooing at it. “Who's my little tinkler? You tinkle tinkles!”

Anya crosses her arms, now irritated. “Okay well, congratulations little plaid family, but we've got a bunch of work to do so…”

“Oh yeah, right,” Lexa says, relieved. “I'm sorry Clarke, she's right, we really have a lot of work to do.”

“Of course, don't let me keep you.” Clarke passes Rexa back into Lexa's hands, setting her dog bag on Octavia's desk. “Take care of Rexa. And I'll see you tonight, okay muffin?”

She didn't know they had plans. “Uh, sure, absolutely.”

Clarke leans in for a kiss. “Bye bye, sweetie.” Before Lexa can reply, Clarke flits out of the room, calling a _nice meeting you, bye!_ to the others.

Rexa whines in her arms at Clarke's absence. Lexa puts him back in the dog bag before he can pee on her again.

“Hey Lexie Wexie, we still on for poker at your place tomorrow?” Octavia smirks.

“Watch it, Blake,” Lexa growls, moving over to the clothing rack to change her shirt. There was no way she was wearing this monstrosity the rest of the day. “And yes, I need at least one night off from this insanity.”

 

///

 

She can hear the incessant buzzing of her phone inside her bag, but between her motorcycle helmet, a short stack of mail, a whining, squirming Rexa and trying to get her key into her front door, Lexa has to ignore it. She has an inkling of who’s calling and it doesn’t make her want to hurry to answer. Finally her key slides properly into the lock and she gets the door open.

The first thing she does is set Rexa down, trying in vain to get him to _sit_ and _stay_ , but the dog immediately scampers off to sniff everything it can find. Lexa contemplates chasing after him, hopefully preventing the damage to her furniture she knows is coming, but she’s too tired to care at the moment. By the time she drops her things onto the dining table and pulls her phone out of her bag, it's stopped ringing. The screen shows a handful of missed calls with corresponding voicemails as well as a slew of text messages. All from Clarke.

Lexa groans.

Traffic had been hell today even with her motorcycle able to slip between stopped cars. It’d taken her twice as long to make it home and of course she couldn’t answer her phone while she was riding. It wasn’t as if she was pointedly ignoring Clarke’s calls. Mostly.

She grabs her phone, sets it to speaker and plays the voicemails as she gets out a bottle of wine.

_“Hi sweetie pie, it's me. Where are you? Call me back!”_

_“Lexaaaa, it’s Clarke. Guess you’re away from your phone."_

_“Lexicoon, are you not answering your phone? Call me!”_

Lexa massages the bridge of her nose, willing the dull headache that's been plaguing her all day not to turn into another migraine.

_“Who is it?! It's me! Call me back sweetie!”_

_“It's meeeeee—”_

A sudden knocking on the door has Lexa scrambling to silence her phone. A second later the front door swings open and Clarke walks in, carrying an oversized bag and still wearing her sunglasses. She’s changed her clothes since earlier, now wearing a floral patterned dress with a blue belt.

“Oh hi honey, you are home!” She breezes past Lexa with barely a peck on the cheek before she heads off in the direction of the bedroom.

“Clarke, hi, yeah just got in,” Lexa says, waving her phone uselessly after Clarke. “I uh, I was just about to call you.”

“Oh yeah?”

Lexa sighs, dropping back against the kitchen counter. She refills her wine glass nearly to the brim and chugs it.

“So, I did something kind of wacky.” Clarke’s carrying what looks like a photo album when she comes back into the dining area.

“Hm?” Lexa’s still drinking her wine, determined to finish the entire glass before she has to deal with whatever Clarke has for her.

“Yes, I used photoshop at work today to composite our faces together to see what our kids would look like.”  Clarke brandishes the photo album with a flourish as Lexa nearly chokes on her wine. _Our Family Album_ is emblazoned in black across the soft pink cover. “Come see our children, Lexi!”

Lexa stares at her, blank faced. “We don’t…have…children.”

Clarke looks stricken for a moment, her eyes welling up and her chin trembling. She slaps the album on the table heavily, making Rexa yelp, before dropping into a chair. “I hate you.”

“Oh hey no, I didn’t...” Lexa sets her wine glass down and hurries to Clarke’s side, “Clarke I didn’t mean it like that. I—show me. Please show me?”

“We don’t have children!” Clarke snaps before hunching back over the album, her shoulders shaking with repressed sobs.

Lexa crouches down beside her, tentatively touching Clarke’s shoulder, and then, when she’s not rebuffed, starts to stroke her back comfortingly. “I just meant, you know like _biologically_ we can’t have children, it just threw me a little, I—will you show them to me?”

“You don’t want to see them.”

“I do. Please, show them to me. I really do want to see them, Clarke.”

Clarke looks at her, still frowning, trying to gauge Lexa’s sincerity. “Really?”

Lexa tries to muster all of her good will towards this woman and project it onto her face. “Yes.”

It must work because—”Okay,” Clarke says happily. She flips the album open to the first page. “This is our wedding. We got married on the beach, _of course._ ” In the photo Lexa’s face has been (quite badly) photoshopped onto what was clearly a man in a suit with his arms wrapped around a woman in a white wedding dress with Clarke’s smiling face photoshopped on. Lexa doesn’t even know where Clarke got that photo of her.

“And here’s our first child Clarke Jr.” She points to a little blonde baby with enormous blue eyes. It looks suspiciously like a stock photo but Lexa can see something of a resemblance to Clarke and herself.

Another photo has each of them carrying a child on their shoulders. There's a badly photoshopped nondescript beach behind them, but at least Lexa's face is actually on a woman's body this time.

“And here we are vacationing in Hawaii. Little Clarke is on your shoulders and little Lex is on mine.”

Uninspired names aside, clearly Clarke's put a substantial amount of effort into creating detailed backstories for each photo. They seem to be quite a well traveled family, with vacations all over the world, including _yodeling_ in Switzerland. Lexa is inclined to think Clarke is just fucking with her, but she sounds so _invested_ in this fictional family and as she told Anya and Octavia, Clarke is hard to read sometimes.

“Our children are quite...attractive,” Lexa muses. They actually are, despite the poor photoshopping. It makes Lexa a tad mournful for the fact that they can't actually have biological children together.

“Right?” Clarke hums, idly stroking a photo of Lexa helping one of the kids ride a bike. She turns the page where there are even more photos, but luckily Lexa's phone rings before Clarke can continue.

“Hey Uncle Gus,” she says, relieved to have a moment to step away from Clarke's photo tour. “I'm doing fine, yes. How are you and Aunt Indra? Mhm.” She listens for a moment, frowning. “Um…yes, she's right here. Ah, just a second.” Slowly, she steps back over to Clarke. “It's uh, it's for you.”

“Oh, great!” Clarke takes the phone breezily, as if she expected the call. “Hey, Gustus.”

Lexa leans in, whispering, “why is my uncle calling you?” but Clarke just shushes her.

“I just showed her,” Clarke says, absently nodding to whatever Gustus is saying. “Uh huh. Well, she thinks our children are _very_ attractive, obviously.” She listens for a minute and Lexa tries to lean close to the phone to try to hear, but Clarke bats her away. Lexa sighs and goes back to her bottle of wine, filling her glass to the brim again.

“Oh, no problem, you go back to cooking. Call me later. Tomorrow? Perfect. Okay Gustus, talk to you soon. Uh huh. Bye bye!” She hangs up and holds it out for Lexa to take. “Thanks, honey.”

The wine can not take effect fast enough. “So…you and my uncle talk?”

Clarke smiles. “Yep. I called to get some baby pictures of you for our book.”

So _that's_ where they came from. Oh no, that's probably also where she got—

“He also told me,” Clarke continues in a teasing voice, “all about how you used to tie your red blanket around your neck, calling yourself _The Commander_. Wouldn't answer to anything else for months.”

Lexa's sure her whole face is as red as that blanket, but she blames it on the wine. “Hey you know what, honey? I've got to—” something behind Clarke catches her attention and her eyes widen. “No, no, Rexa,  _no!”_ She scrambles over to the poker table but she's too late to stop the little dog lifting his leg and peeing all over the surface. She curses quietly.

“You think maybe he thinks the felt is grass?” Clarke says, innocently.

Lexa bites back on her molars and doesn't answer. She storms up the stairs to her bedroom, looking for towels in the linen cupboard just inside the bathroom. Except, something’s off in her normally cleanly organized bathroom.

All her products on the counter have been shoved over to make room for a whole new collection of things she doesn't use. A second, bright pink toothbrush is sitting beside hers in the holder. Her bath towel has been replaced with two identical pink towels with _Hers_ sewn onto them. When Lexa opens the medicine cabinet, she sees twice as many things jammed inside, including an embarrassing amount of hemorrhoid cream.

Lexa slams the cabinet shut, bracing her hands on the counter to breathe deeply for a moment. She feels all the new foreign things added to her bathroom, _Clarke's_ things, crowding her, overwhelming her.

The candles, the stuffed animals, the stupid baby fern were one thing. She could live with a few extra decorations (the candles smell really good anyway). But _this_. After the new pet, the family album, this is like moving in. It's way too fast. Everything inside her is urging her to bolt.

She runs her hand roughly through her hair, forgetting it's still pulled back, and rips the tie out so hard the band snaps. She takes another deep breath, tries to get a hold of herself. Five more days. Just five more days. Grabbing the towels, she steps back out of the bathroom, and nearly jumps out of her skin.

Clarke's stretched out on the bed, head propped up by her hand, looking unbearably sexy. “Hey Commander.”

Lexa steps back and bumps right into the dresser, rattling the picture frames on top of it. She tries hard not to look like she's one step away from a panic attack, but she's pretty sure she fails. “C-Clarke.”

“Do you have plans tonight?”

“Tonight?” God, her voice is way too high and squeaky.

Clarke bites her lip, raising an eyebrow. “I have another surprise for you.”

Not good. Lexa is too gay for this and too overwhelmed by everything. She needs to abort right now. “Ah… You know what? Not a good night for me. I…” Her mind races for an acceptable excuse. “I've gotta work. Of all things.”

“Oh no,” Clarke frowns.

This could work, yes. “I know, I'm so sorry. This big project just came up and— I know we've got a Knicks game and I had a—a broccoli and asparagus casserole planned, but now we can't even do that.”

“That's really too bad,” Clarke sighs, “cause I had tickets for tonight.”

Lexa pauses on her slow journey edging towards the stairs. “Tickets?”

“Tickets! _Great_ tickets!” Clarke bursts out, actually sounding genuinely upset. “Front row seats, right in the action. I mean, you can smell the _sweat_.”

Front row seats for the Knicks game? For game three? Maybe even a chance to reconnect with Clarke like they had at the last game? Fuck that's worth a panic attack.  

Lexa rakes her hand through her hair, thinking quick. “Well… I mean. I guess… I don't _have_ to go back in to work tonight. That project is going to take weeks anyway…”

Clarke smiles, like she expected Lexa to change her tune.

“Yeah, you know work can wait, right? I’d rather spend the night out with you.” Lexa steps closer to the bed to lean and give Clarke a peck on the lips. “Thank you, Clarke.” She moves away to get changed and finish cleaning up.

“Honey, you are more than welcome.” There's something suspiciously devious in the way Clarke is smiling at her. “This is a once in a lifetime experience and I want to share it you.”

Lexa ignores the odd vibe Clarke is putting out. She has a Knicks game to get ready for.

 

///

 

It's not the Knicks game.

It's a Justin Beiber concert.

Lexa supposes it's really her own fault for jumping to conclusions. She has to remind herself that she's only known Clarke for five days and the blonde has already displayed extremely unpredictable behavior, so Lexa can't really blame her.

That's what she keeps telling herself all throughout the three grueling hours in a stadium full of screaming Beleibers.

The migraine currently pounding right behind her eyes is making it quite difficult _not_ to blame Clarke, but she manages somehow. That is, until she gets Clarke safely into a Lyft with a parting cheek kiss, on her way home. Then she's free to blame whoever she wants, all the way home.

At least tomorrow will be a _Clarke-free_ night, playing poker with her friends. She's never needed it more.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days 7-8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies on several notes:  
> 1\. the wait between chapters is abysmal, I have no excuse. this fic is nearly finished in fact, save for a few spots I need to fill. I am committed to finishing this fic, I promise.  
> 2\. if you noticed the up in rating, but not in content, you will have to wait one more chapter, I'm afraid.  
> 3\. if you get secondhand embarrassment through fic...this chapter is a doozy. poor lexa is a trooper.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

“Ok so, to recap,” Raven starts ticking things off her fingers. “You got her knocked out at a chick flick marathon, insulted her cooking, made her miss the big game, probably ruined dirty talk _forever_ , adopted a dog, insulted her friends, rearranged half her apartment, lowkey uhauled her, planned out your future life together—complete with _kids_ , and then tricked her into going to a Bieber concert.” She glances over at Clarke. “Did I miss anything?”

“I also subscribed her to like, a dozen bridal magazines,” Clarke says, mildly.

Raven runs out of fingers to count. “And even after all that, she _still_ didn't dump you?”

Clarke sighs, rolling onto her side to look at Raven. They're lounging on some deck chairs on the roof of Clarke's apartment building. Clarke had insisted she needed to strategize and Raven and Monty of course were needed for this as well, so Callie had given them all the afternoon off. “She's just so _patient,_ you know? It's gonna take something _drastic_.”

“Are you being clingy?” Monty pipes up, from the other side of Raven.

“Clingy, needy, whiny…” Clarke ticks off her fingers.

“Baby talk?”

“A bit… she doesn't really respond to it.” Clarke frowns. “She's too sweet. Everything I do she just takes in stride, accommodates my erratic behavior…honestly she treats me better than anyone I've ever dated. It's hard to _repel_ that.”

Raven side eyes her. “Do you still _want_ her to dump you?”

Clarke blinks. “Of course. That's the job, isn't it?”

Raben just nods, careful. “I know you haven’t seriously dated anyone in a while—”

“And I’m not seriously dating Lexa, am I?” Clarke interrupts. She doesn't want to think about the implications of what Raven said just yet. “Come on, back to the job. I need something big.”

They're all quiet for a moment, thinking.

“I used to obsess over Nate’s exes,” Monty offers. “She's like ridiculously hot right? She's gotta have a few.”

“Oh! Better yet,” Raven says, “talk about _your_ exes.”

Clarke frowns, flopping onto her back again. “It's good, it's good, but it's not gonna _crack_ her. Listen _Justin Bieber_ wasn't enough. I need to do something like _seriously_ appalling and I need to think of something before _tomorrow.”_

“Wait, why not tonight?”

She shakes her head. “It's poker night.”

Raven sits up, looking at her incredulously. “You're letting her have a poker night?”

“They do it every week….”

“ _Before_ she met _you_.”

A slow smile spreads across Clarke's face. “What are you suggesting?”

Raven just smirks. Monty sits up as well, grinning. “Oh I think you know what she's suggesting.”

 

////

 

Lexa rolls her shoulders, feeling the tension leave her gradually with each new hand, as Lincoln deals the next round. Her luck hasn't been the greatest tonight, but she's the most relaxed she's been in a week. Part of that might be the alcohol or the cigar (a rare indulgence) but she knows most of it is due to a lack of a certain blonde.

Some part of her actually kind of misses Clarke and wants to see her, but it's really more in a theoretical way. She thinks about Clarke’s beautiful smile or husky laugh, that sexy smirk she gets when she's teasing and wants more of that. And then she remembers all the insane things Clarke has done to her this week and how off-kilter she feels, always waiting for the next ridiculous thing to happen, and she's glad for the night off.

The hands are all dealt and Lexa picks her cards up to see how she stands. It's not a great hand, but she can work with it. She's got a killer poker face and the more relaxed she gets, the easier it is to fall back into her usual rhythm.

“Feeling lucky?” Lexa says, as everyone discards what they don't want for new cards. Two new cards offer nothing beneficiary to her hand, so she starts off the round with a modest bet.

“Luckier than you apparently,” Anya snorts, nodding at the two bucks Lexa set down.

“Lucky to not be at another Justin Beiber concert?” Octavia adds and everyone snickers.

Lexa just shrugs, too relaxed now to be ruffled. “That's what true love is all about, my friend.”

The round continues. Octavia and Lincoln both match her bet while Roan folds. Luna takes a while to decide, eventually raising the bet ten. It circles to Anya, who takes no time at all to raise the bet even higher to fifty bucks.

“Call,” Luna says, when the round gets to her again.

Anya lays her cards down triumphantly, revealing a pair of queens. “Read em and weep.”

Luna lays her pair of fours down, cursing. Octavia and Lexa both throw their cards down, showing nothing of note. Anya cackles and scoops the pot to her side of the table to begin stacking her chips.

“Look at that,” she crows, showing off her chips, higher than everyone else's. “A beautiful sight.

Lexa elbows her ‘accidentally’ as she takes a drink from her beer, laughing when Anya elbows her back.

Over the chatter they hear footsteps in the hall and then keys jingling at the front door.

“Hey, maybe that's Ontari,” Roan says. Ontari only made it to their weekly poker game maybe once a month, usually without notice. They'd learned to expect her not to show up.

“Ontari doesn't have a key to my place,” Lexa frowns, turning in her chair as the door opens.

It's not Ontari, of course. It's Clarke.

“Lexypoo, I'm home!” She's wearing a flowery summer dress and carrying an oversized bag over her shoulder full of god knows what. Rexa shoots out from where he'd been hiding to jump at Clarke's legs, whining.

“She has a key?” Anya hisses. The rest of the poker crew at the table raise their eyebrows. Only Anya and Octavia knew of the bet, but all of them know Lexa doesn't just give out keys to girlfriends, especially ones she just met.

Lexa stares for a minute before getting up to greet her. “Clarke, I—you—I wasn't expecting you, uh.” She holds Clarke’s bag (suspiciously heavy) while Clarke takes her jacket off. “H-how'd you get a key?”

“Oh Marcus, your super, he made me a copy.”

Lexa narrows her eyes. “Marcus did? Huh.” She'd have to have a talk with him later.

Clarke pauses, one arm still in a jacket sleeve. “Honey, you're not mad are you?” Her eyes grow large and worried.

“No, I'm not mad.” She's actually is, but she's not sure yet if it should be directed at Clarke or Marcus.

“You're not mad?” Clarke gives her big puppy eyes.

Marcus is an easier target right now. “No, no, of course not, I'm not mad.” She smiles and takes Clarke's jacket, sets it and her bag on the side table near the door. “I just wanted to be the one to give you a key, but it's fine. I'm not mad. I'm not mad.” Yes, keep repeating it, that will help.

Clarke doesn’t notice—or care about Lexa’s obvious discomfort. “That's good.” She moves closer to the poker table and looks pointedly at Lexa.

“Oh um,” Lexa says, “you know Anya and Octavia. Um, that's Lincoln, my cousin. Roan and Luna I know from college. Everyone, this is Clarke.”

They chorus greetings at her, mostly bemused at the interruption. Clarke bends for a moment to pick Rexa up from where he'd been hopping around her feet.

“I didn't mean to interrupt your play time,” Clarke says, stroking Rexa's head. He's more relaxed now that Clarke is here. Lexa hadn't been able to even coax him out from under the table, let alone pick him up.

In contrast, Lexa is noticeably _less_ relaxed now, her smile strained. “It's no problem, Clarke.” She sits back in her seat and picks up the new cards she's been dealt, ready to ignore Clarke’s presence as much as possible. Everyone else at the table are still watching her, waiting. “Let's play,” Lexa snaps, tapping her knuckles on the table. “I'll take two.” Lincoln exchanges two of her cards.

Clarke flits off to the kitchen, taking her bag with her, which doesn't bode well. Lexa rotates her head around, feeling the tension creeping back into her neck. She was _almost_ rid of it.

There's no sound except the clattering of dishes coming from the kitchen and Clarke's loud, out of tune humming. Around the poker table, everybody shifts awkwardly, unsure what to say. Irritating. Lexa encourages everyone to keep the hand going until it ends in a disappointing call with Octavia taking the meager spoils.

“Alright, let’s switch it up,” Lexa says, gathering the cards together and shuffling them. “Texas Hold ‘Em. Three up for company, ante a dollar, please.”

Everyone nods in assent, picking up their cards as Lexa deals them. Lexa is so focused on dealing and exchanging cards for the first round, she doesn't notice Clarke returning from the kitchen until she's right next to the table.

“I brought yummy snacks!”

“Snacks?” Lexa finishes counting out the cards Roan called for and glances up. Clarke's holding a large platter of veggies—carrots, celery, broccoli, and the like—looking expectant.

Lexa blinks and looks back at the card table, already crowded with cards, stacks of poker chips, beer bottles, ashtrays, and plates of pizza. There's not exactly room but Clarke isn't likely to back down.

“Oh, uh.” Lexa clears a space on the table beside her, shifting her chip stacks and moving beer bottles aside. “Yeah. Thank you, honey.” There's still not room enough for the platter, but Clarke sets it down anyway, knocking over two of Anya's carefully stacked towers of chips.

Anya grumbles, snagging her plate of pizza before it gets knocked out of the way or crushed by vegetables. The pizza is halfway to her mouth before Clarke makes a disapproving sound.

“Oh Anya,” Clarke says, frowning. “Yucky yucky pizza.” She tries to grab the slice from Anya's hand.

“Excuse me?” Anya glares, starting a tug of war with the pizza slice.

“Yucky pizza,” Clarke repeats, steel creeping into her voice. Lexa glances between them before settling a look on Anya that communicates _just do as she says._

Anya reluctantly lets go and Clarke grins triumphantly. “There you go. Now, yummy yummy cucumber sandwich.” She gives a neatly sliced, crust-less sandwich square to Anya in exchange.

Off Lexa’s pleading look, Anya slowly takes a bite out of the sandwich, barely hiding her displeased expression.

“Yum,” Anya says in a flat voice.

Clarke smiles and looks around at everyone else, holding the plate of cucumber sandwiches expectantly. There's a beat where Lexa sends an insistent look around the table behind Clarke's back before Lincoln (bless him) gets the message and jumps forward to take a sandwich. Everyone else quickly follows suit, faking enthusiasm. Lexa’s never been more glad that Ontari rarely shows up for poker night—she would _not_ have played along.

Lexa tries to get the game back on track, resolutely ignoring Clarke's efforts to get everyone to eat the other vegetables on her tray. Clarke bustles around the table, clearing away beer bottles (some still full) and plates of pizza and replacing it with random servings of vegetables and more cucumber sandwiches. And, after a series of obnoxious fake coughs, Clarke gets everyone to give up their cigars, spraying air freshener in the air to clear the residual smoke.

“Oh,” Clarke says, looking over Roan’s shoulder at his cards, just as he's about to raise the bet. “A nine and seven. Go for the straight!” Then she skips away back to the kitchen, completely oblivious to Roan’s murderous glare.

The interruptions continue over the next half hour, though it feels agonizingly longer. Clarke seems to take delight in sneaking up behind Lexa and startling her. Lexa never considered herself a particularly jumpy person, but Clarke is making her rethink that.

Lexa feels like she's skating a thin line between hysteria and hyper denial. She's starting to wonder if her career actually means this much to her, if any of this is worth it. All she can focus on is the hands being dealt her.

“Alright, we got a nine up, nine up,” Lexa says. She's already maxed out her bet and her cards aren't anything special but she's feeling this round. Luna and Lincoln are the only ones left, and they don't look too confident.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Clarke stepping up beside her at the table, but she doesn't react until something white juts in front of her face.

A tissue. There's a tissue in Clarke's hand.

“Blow,” Clarke says.

Lexa looks up at Clarke, hoping for a joke, but Clarke looks utterly sincere.

“Blow,” Clarke repeats, shaking the tissue insistently. “Nobody likes a stuffy head.”

“I hate stuffy heads,” Anya comments, unhelpfully, barely containing her amusement. Lexa doesn't even want to _see_ her friends faces right now, or she might die of humiliation. She can feel her ears burning so hot they're probably two red beacons advertising her embarrassment.

Lexa locks eyes with Clarke, meeting the firm challenge in steely blue. In any other situation, Lexa would fight it, would not bend for something so moronic. But she doesn’t want to fight with Clarke in front of her friends. Compromise is a part of love, right? Keeping Clarke happy is her primary job right now, no matter how soul crushing it feels.

“Come on Commander Sniffles,” Clarke tries again, her sickly sweet voice becoming patronizing.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Lexa leans into the tissue and blows.

Like a mother with her small child, Clarke coos and praises her, and wipes her nose with the tissue. “Ooh look at that, white.” Clarke shows off the relatively clean tissue to the table. “Healthy girl. Good, good. Mhm.” She hums as she heads back to the kitchen.

Lexa takes a deep breath and counts to ten. This is fine. She's being repeatedly embarrassed in front of her closest friends by a woman she's known less than a week. It's _fine_. It's for the greater good, right?

The heat creeping up her neck refuses to leave. She shoves needlessly at the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and clears her throat. “Come on, are we playing?”

The others watch her anxiously, exchanging glances, but say nothing. Anya and Octavia give her sympathetic looks, but it doesn't make Lexa feel any less irritated. Lincoln looks like he's torn between sympathy and protective-older-brother.

All the tension is back in Lexa’s shoulders and neck, worse than before. She looks at her cards, losing faith in them entirely. “I fold.” She tosses her cards into the center pile and takes a long pull from her beer, draining half the bottle.

The round ends uneventfully with Luna taking the pot (on a pair of _sixes_ of all the—Lexa’s cards would've beat that—). Lincoln gathers the cards together to shuffle and deal. They're all awkwardly quiet, collectively aware of Clarke flitting around the apartment, tidying up.

Clarke’s moving a side table over when she stops suddenly, with a mournful—“Oh no.” That makes everyone flinch.

Lexa tries to ignore her, gesturing at Lincoln, who has yet to deal the next round. “Are we playing cards here or what?”

“Oh no!” Clarke repeats, louder. She hurries over to the bookcase. “Our love fern! It's _dead!_ ” More accurately, the fern is severely charred from an ill placed candle. Lexa had meant to replace it before Clarke noticed. Clarke picks up the blackened plant and whirls on Lexa, angrily.

Lexa's eyes widen. “No honey it's… It's just sleeping,” she protests, weakly.

“You let it _die!_ ” Clarke gestures wildly with the plant, sending dirt and bits of burnt leaves everywhere. “Are you gonna let _us_ die, Lexie? You should think about that!” Before Lexa can respond, Clarke storms away into the kitchen.

“What the hells a love fern?” Roan wonders.

“Alright, can we just get on with the next hand, please?” Lexa says, irritably, face hot. She knows she should go talk to Clarke, but she can hear the sound of dishes clattering in the sink, and Lexa does _not_ want to confront her right now.

Anya leans over. “Is she _on_ something?”

“God, I hope so,” Lexa groans, shaking her head.

They suddenly feel a presence behind them and Lexa nearly jumps out of her skin to find Clarke inches away, holding another tray of vegetables.

“Hi,” she says, in a sickly sweet, and deeply foreboding tone. “Um are you suggesting…that I'm some sort of _mental person?!_ ” Clarke jerks the tray and vegetables go flying.

“Whoa! Okay,” Lexa exclaims, pushing away from the table.

“No, Lexa wasn't saying—” Anya says, holding her hands up.

“You think so too! You're all thinking it!”

“Clarke—” Lexa starts, but Clarke is waving the tray around manically, preventing anybody from getting close.

“That's it!” Clarke drops the tray with a flourish, the loud _clang_ making everyone jump.

“Just wait a min—” Lexa tries again, but Clarke sweeps past her to grab her jacket and bag.

“I'm taking this love fern with me,” Clarke snaps. She tucks the poor burned plant under her arm and storms out.

Lexa looks around helplessly at her friends before hurrying after Clarke. The blonde’s already stepping into the elevator. Lexa has to run to catch up, nearly tripping over Rexa in the process.

“Hey, hey, hey, Clarke, hang on.” She manages to grab the doors before they close. Clarke gives her a haughty raised eyebrow and says nothing.

“What just happened back there?” Lexa gestures pointlessly back at her apartment. “That was—you're acting completely _insane_ , what—”

“Oh so I _am_ insane?” Clarke interrupts.

“ _No,_ ” Lexa says, voice raising in irritation. “I said you're _acting_ insane, Clarke.” Rexa hops around her ankles, barking. “ _Rexa_ , enough!”

Clarke starts forward, throwing an arm out to the dog as if to protect him from Lexa's anger. “Oh, he is an innocent animal!”

“And he'll live, alright? I'm talking to you right now.”

Clarke bristles. “You know I don't think I can be with someone who doesn't like animals and thinks I'm a mental person.”

“This is what I'm talking about!” Lexa slaps a hand harder than necessary on the elevator frame when the doors start to close again. All her frustration from the past few days comes pouring out. “Where's the sexy, smart, fun Clarke I knew? The one who wanted to be a serious journalist? Huh?” She thinks she sees something spark in Clarke's blue eyes, but she needs more than that, after everything the woman has put her through. “You're _up_ , you're _down_ , you're _here_ , you're _there_. I can't keep up, Clarke, you're like a one woman circus!”

Clarke stares at her, defiantly. “So I guess this means we're over.”

Lexa clenches her jaw tight, frustration radiating off her. Finally, she steps back from the doors. “I guess so.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The elevator doors start to close and neither make a move to stop them this time.  

 

Clarke slumps back against the wall of the elevator, all anger deflating instantly. She doesn't hit the ground floor button just yet, half expecting Lexa to pry the doors open somehow, but Lexa doesn't. Instead she thinks she can hear Lexa's apartment slam shut down the hall.

So that's it then, it's over. “Finally,” she sighs. But it doesn't really bring relief, like she expected. She should be happy this nightmare of an assignment is over, but she can't get the look of bewildered anger and confusion Lexa had on her beautiful face before the elevator doors closed.

She wants to go back and apologize, but she can't, so she hits the button for the ground floor. The elevator jolts into movement. The doorman nods goodbye to her on her way out the front of the building but Clarke is too distracted to respond. She straightens back into her haughty demeanor in case anyone is watching from the top floor.

And someone is watching.

“Clarke!”

Lexa's voice. Clarke's heart jumps in her throat as she hears footsteps pounding down the metal fire escape. She doesn't respond or turn around, even when she hears Lexa scaling the ladder down to the sidewalk; she's afraid she'll look too eager, too hopeful. Her heart is pounding too fast as it is, she forces herself to breathe and school her features.

“Clarke, wait please.” Lexa jogs after her, dodging around to block her path. Her hand moves out as if to grab Clarke's, but she doesn't, she's too respectful of Clarke's boundaries. “I'm so sorry, please.”

Clarke raises her chin, trying to project an indifference she doesn't feel.

Lexa surprises her by dropping right down to her knees, staring up at her earnestly. “I don't know what I was thinking, I was way out of line before. Can you give me another chance, Clarke?”

“Haven't you had enough?” _Clarke's_ already had more than enough, how much more can Lexa endure?

“Please, I'll do anything,” Lexa insists.

God she looks like she's about to propose or pledge fealty with how intense her eyes are. “Get up.” Lexa doesn't until Clarke holds her hand out to help her up. The touch of Lexa's hand is almost too much for Clarke's tenuous hold on her act, but Lexa hangs on, like she's tethering herself to Clarke.

“Look, what do you think about… Couples therapy?”

“Couples therapy?” Clarke repeats, dubiously.

“Yes, Octavia's brother has a guy he goes to with his husband, said he's great, he—”

But Clarke shakes her head, cutting Lexa off. “Oh no, I know a therapist who will work wonders with somebody like _you,_  Alexandria.”

Perhaps too much if the subtle clench of Lexa's jaw is any indication, but Lexa seems determined. She smiles, tightly. “Yes, that's what I need.”

Clarke nods. “Fine, I will call and schedule an emergency session.”

“Whatever it takes.”

“Kiss.” Clarke taps her cheek and Lexa complies.

“Thank you, Clarke. I want to make this work.”

There's that too earnest look again, god Clarke needs to leave or she's going to lose it. “I love you Lexicoon, but I don't have to like you right now.” She strides away, head held high for a solid block before she lets out her held breath in a rush.

What the _fuck_.

 

///

 

The next day, Clarke gives Lexa an address for a building in Brooklyn and meets her outside. Lexa's leaning against her bike, wearing her leather jacket over a fairly nice button up shirt, having come straight from work. When she sees Clarke pull up in a taxi, she pushes off and goes to greet her.

“This looks like an apartment building,” Lexa says, noticing a panel of resident names beside the door as they go inside. She's stiff, arms crossed, and she doesn't offer a kiss to Clarke's cheek like usual. Clarke tries not to feel slighted. _This is what she wanted._

“Yes, it makes the session more relaxed and intimate.” In fact it's Monty’s apartment building, though he was working late today. He gave them permission to use his place, since Raven lived in the same building as Clarke and that might be too suspicious.

They reach the third floor and stop outside one of the doors. A small printed sign is taped below the number on the door reading _Raven Reyes, Therapist_. Clarke prays Lexa doesn't see through how fake this is.

“Are you ready to really dig deep?” Clarke says, after she knocks. “I need you to really commit in there…”

Lexa nods her head, staring at the door. “Yep.”

“Bare that beautiful soul of yours.”

The door opens before she can continue and Clarke nearly chokes when she sees Raven. She's dressed in a large knit sweater she's fairly sure is Monty’s and oversized eye glasses. Raven doesn't break character though, somehow managing to look dour and kind.

“Clarke Griffin, Alexandria Woods, welcome, please come in. My name is Raven Reyes.” Even her voice is different, nearly monotone in a breezy talk radio way. They're ushered in and thankfully the place has been thoroughly cleaned since Monty’s breakdown a week earlier. The armchair normally facing the TV has been turned around to face the couch and a tray of juice and cookies is sitting neatly on the unusually spotless coffee table. “Before we begin, how are you planning on paying for this session?”

Clarke turns to Lexa. “Sweetie?”

“Uh. How much is it?”

“Three hundred.”

“Three hundred? _Dollars_?” Lexa exclaims. She glances at Clarke and back to Raven, waiting for a punchline, but gets only patient, expectant faces. Sighing, she takes out her wallet. “Yep, sure, whatever it takes.”

Raven’s smile is a little too smug. “I take Apple Pay.” They get the payment all squared away and settle down, Clarke and Lexa on the couch and Raven in the armchair.

“Alright, let's get started. How long have you two been seeing each other?”

“Uh—” Lexa glances at Clarke. “Eight days.” Clarke nods in agreement.

“Eight days? Interesting.”

“Is it too soon to be seeing a therapist?” Lexa asks, anxiously.

Raven waves off the question. “Well, Alexandria, eight days isn't like a lifetime or anything—”

“Yeah, it's like a week,” Lexa interrupts.

“Did you hear that _tone?_ ” Clarke says, in almost a whisper, like she's revealing a secret to their therapist Lexa can't hear. “How can there not be a _gulf_ between us when she uses that tone?”

Lexa frowns but can't seem to think of a response that won't get her into more trouble and stays silent.

Raven peers at them, nodding and stroking her chin in a way that Clarke thinks is way over the top, but Lexa doesn't appear to suspect. “And how are things _sexually_ between you two?”

Clarke makes a strange giggling sound. “Ooh, ooh, no, noooo, we haven't—we haven't had sex yet. Lexi has a little bit of a…problem.”

The brunette turns to look at her oddly. “What? No I don't.”

Clarke stares her down. “Oh, yes you do.”

Lexa stares right back, looking increasingly more annoyed. “I do not have a problem.”

“It's a big problem.”

“What are you even—I do not have a problem with _sex_ —”

Raven leans forward to get their attention, patting Lexa's knee. “This is a safe space.”

“No, look,” Lexa snaps, glaring briefly at Clarke before turning to explain. “The one night we even got close to sleeping together, it just felt off and I wasn't comfortable, but that doesn't mean I have a _problem_.”

Raven nods like she's just realizing something. “Oh I see. So you're a virgin, Alexandria?”

“What?” Lexa laughs, incredulously. “Where did you get— _no_. I'm definitely not—that's, I've been with _plenty_ of—” she stops herself, perhaps realizing that discussing how many partners she's had is not a good direction to go in. She clears her throat and begins again in a more measured tone. “No, I'm not a virgin.”

Raven hums and writes something down on her notepad very seriously. “Uh huh, okay, and how long have you been a sex addict?”

Lexa goes bright red and she can't even sputter out a word in protest for a long moment. Clarke bites her lip hard, trying valiantly not to laugh. When Lexa looks to her for help, she merely crosses her arms and looks accusingly, waiting for an answer.

“I am _not_ —” Lexa says, too loudly at first, then she checks herself and lowers her tone. “I'm not a _sex addict_ , Ms. Reyes. Listen,” she leans forward, trying to make Raven see her sincerity. “I like sex, but I respect women more okay? I don't care if we have sex or not, that's not what's most important in a relationship.”

Raven nods, seemingly surprised by Lexa's answer and floundering on how to continue. “That's…very refreshing to hear.”

“I would never do anything to make a woman uncomfortable. I’d rather talk, get to know them first, find a connection, then explore the physical.”

Raven keeps nodding, a small dreamy smile forming on her face.

Clarke looks between them, frowning. “Are you _flirting_ with our _therapist_ , Lexa?”

Lexa reels back. “What? No!”

“You are!” Clarke explodes. “You were flirting with her right in front of me!”

“I wasn't, Clarke—”

“You're a pathological _flirt_ —”

“God, first I'm a _virgin_ , then I'm a _sex addict_ , now I'm a pathological flirt?” Lexa waits for a rebuttal but gets none. “See? Stop it, okay this is the shit I was talking about.”

Clarke reacts like Lexa struck her. “What the hell was _that_?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Raven says, trying to quell the argument.

“What did _I_ do?” Lexa exclaims, looking bewildered. “Listen, this is what she does. Turns it around on me. Stop that.”

“That was hurtful,” Clarke sniffles.

“I'm hearing a lot of latent anger here, Alexandria,” Raven says, sagely.

Clarke nods and whispers, “Rage-a-holic.”

“I'm not a—” Lexa starts angrily, undercutting her denial, then lowers her voice, “I'm not a rage-a-holic. Stop accusing me of things.”

“Okay, okay, let's a just take a deep breath,” Raven says, making calming gestures with her hands. “Relax, release the anger.” They all breathe in and out as a group several times and it does seem to ease the tension in the room. At least until Raven asks another question. “Okay, now. Lexa, are you ashamed of Clarke?”

Lexa scoffs. “What?”

“Of course she is,” Clarke says, grabbing a handful of tissues to sniffle into. “You are!”

Lexa seems genuinely distressed by this. “I'm not ashamed of you, Clarke.”

“How do you think it makes me feel?”

“Honey, I'm _not,_ I'm—” she tries to grab her hands, but Clarke jerks them away. Lexa's eyes grow intense with determination. “What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm committed to this relationship, Clarke? You've met my friends, do you want to meet my family now? I'll take you to Staten Island, you can meet the whole lot!”

Clarke starts to protest— _bonding further_ with Lexa wasn't going to get Lexa to break up with her (that was still the goal, wasn't it?) —when Raven breaks in, sounding excited.

“Now that sounds like a positive, constructive activity for the two of you. Clarke, would you like to do that?”

“Uhh…” Clarke mumbles, staring at her friend incredulously. “What?”

Raven misses—or ignores—the look and continues. “Would you like to go to Staten Island to meet Lexa's family?”

Lexa and Raven are looking at her expectantly now, so Clarke caves. “Uh, sure. Yeah.”

“Great!” Raven claps her hands. “This was a great session, I think we made a lot of progress.” She throws her hand out to shake Lexa's, now obviously ignoring Clarke's glare.

“Yeah, so much progress,” Clarke mutters, darkly.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol holy shit its been a while, I'm terribly sorry. I struggled to finish a couple scenes in this chap and it was easier to ignore writing it entirely! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. The good news is I wrote the rest of the chaps while I ignored this one, so expect rapid updates from here on out. 
> 
> As always, enjoy.

 

They take an early morning ferry ride on Saturday, bringing Lexa's bike along to get from the docks to Lexa's family home. It's not a long ride but Clarke enjoys sitting close to Lexa probably more than she should. Despite everything, she’s nervous about meeting Lexa's family. Lincoln, she'd met at the poker game and she talked to Gustus on the phone, but there was a world of difference between that and walking into the place where Lexa grew up.

The Woods residence is an older two story house in a quiet neighborhood. A man one house down, watering the flowers in his front yard, waves to Lexa as she kills the engine and takes her helmet off. There's several cars in the driveway, spilling out into street parking.

“Whole gang’s here,” Lexa mutters under her breath. She seems nervous too.

Clarke grabs her bag from the back of the bike and takes Lexa's hand when she offers it.

“Ready?”

Clarke's not, but she nods anyway. She reminds herself that she's good with people, that she enjoys meeting new people, that she shouldn't feel this overwhelming need to make a good impression on Lexa's family. _This isn’t real, this is all pretend._ The words sound hollow the moment she thinks them.

Once inside, they're accosted almost at once by two little boys, crowding Lexa, calling her ‘Auntie’ and asking a million questions. Lexa just laughs and fends them off. An older woman comes out of the kitchen, hollering for the boys to go upstairs.

“Aunt Indra,” Lexa says, embracing the woman.

“Lexa.” The woman is a bit stiff and formal, but still warm, looking at Lexa with obvious affection. “And who's this?”

Lexa steps to the side so Indra can see Clarke properly and introduces her.

Indra only offers a hand for Clarke to shake instead of a hug, but Clarke takes it. “It's very nice to meet you, ma'am.”

“Oh, she's polite,” Indra says, amused. She swats Lexa's arm. “Maybe she can teach you some manners.”

“Hey, I am a perfect gentlewomen,” Lexa protests. They follow Indra into the living room where another woman nearly identical to Indra is sitting bouncing a baby in her lap.

Lexa introduces her as her Aunt Adina, Indra’s sister and mother of “the two little hellions” they met earlier. They make polite small talk for a moment before the older women excuse themselves to tend to the baby.

Clarke gets up and wanders around the living room, examining all the little affects the Woods’ have scattered about. It's obviously a well lived-in home. There's scuffs on the wall, paint peeling in places, outdated furniture and decor, but it's pleasant and welcoming. A _family_ lives here. Very different from her mother’s sterile, hyper-modern house in DC.

The walls are full of framed photos, spanning decades. Graduation photos, chubby faced babies, candid and posed family pictures alike. It's hard to tell where the immediate and extended family divide.

She finds the ones of Lexa quickly, recognizing a couple as one's Gustus sent her. One has a tiny Lexa, no older than five, hands planted proudly on hips, a red blanket tied around her neck. _The Little Commander_ is handwritten on the matting surrounding the photo inside the frame. Clarke bites her lip at how adorable the picture is.

“This is my father,” Lexa says, directing Clarke's attention _away_ from the embarrassing childhood photos. She's pointing to a military headshot, a handsome young man in formal Marine dress. He has the same stoic, gray-green eyes as Lexa, the same narrow face; Clarke might've guessed they were related anyway.

“He joined the Marines at eighteen. Met my mother at a base in Germany. She was an Air Force pilot.” She points to another photo of a military wedding with both bride and groom in formal military attire. “Had me a year later. We moved around to a couple different bases across Europe, up until I was about five when they were both killed in a car accident.”

Clarke gasps softly. She had wondered why Lexa grew up living with her aunt and uncle, but hadn't felt like she could ask why. She slips her arms around one of Lexa's, hugging and offering quiet support. She knows from personal experience, Lexa wouldn't want pity.

“That's when I came to live with my father's brother.” She points out another photo of two men, one of them Lexa's father, clean shaven and wearing army cammies, next to a man of similar build but with a dark bushy beard, who must be her Uncle Gustus.

The man himself, older, but his beard no less bushy, comes into the room then, booming out his niece's name. He immediately wraps Lexa in a warm bear hug, actually lifting her off the ground before Lexa protests.

“And you must be Clarke!” He says, turning to her after setting Lexa on her feet again. “Finally have a face to go with the voice!” He doesn't offer his hand for Clarke to shake like Indra had. Instead, he envelops her in his arms without ceremony. Clarke has to swallow a sudden surge of emotions at being hugged like this, like a father hugs a daughter.

“Uncle Gus, let her breathe,” Lexa admonishes, slapping him on the arm. He laughs and lets Clarke go, carefully steadying her when she stumbles.

“My apologies, I was just excited to meet this one,” Gustus says, good-naturedly. “You look even lovelier than I imagined, my dear.”

Clarke laughs and waves him off, in an effort to mask the subtle prick of tears edging her eyes. Lexa's hand goes to her back, rubbing soothingly, as if she understands, but she says nothing. Instead she directs her to follow Gustus out to the back porch where the sounds of raucous laughter and curse words can be heard.

“You'll find out quickly that my family is _a lot_ ,” Lexa murmurs into Clarke's ear as they go out through the open sliding door.

The group assembled on the deck playing cards certainly are boisterous. There's a man of similar bearish build to Gustus, with a matching bushy beard, introduced as ‘Uncle Nyko’ and of no actual relation to any of them. An older black man, Indra’s father, named Adrock, whom Lexa refers to as ‘Grandpa Ad’ who drifts in and out of sleep. Lexa's cousin Lincoln is there too. Clarke had met him before at the poker game but now she sees that despite being technically a cousin, he's more like a brother to Lexa. He’s only a couple years older and they'd grown up together since Lexa was five.

“Clarke! Great to see you again,” Lincoln says, standing immediately to offer Clarke his seat. “After the other night I didn't know if I would.”

Clarke laughs uneasily as Lexa gives him a warning look. “We worked it out,” Lexa says, and the topic is dropped.

A teenager, with dirty blonde hair sticking up in every direction, still yawning and rubbing his eyes wanders out onto the deck behind them, holding a plate of toast. He’s gangly, firmly in the midsts of the awkward puberty stage of excessive growth. He brightens when he sees the new arrivals.

“Lex!”

“Aden, you’ve grown at least a foot since I saw you last,” Lexa says, giving him a hug. He’s nearly as tall as she is.

“That’s because you never visit us anymore.”

“Not true,” Lexa protests, but then says, “I’ve been busy.” She steps back to include Clarke in their conversation. “Clarke, this is Aden. He’s allergic to mornings.”

“It’s Saturday,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Aden,” Clarke says. Unsure of how to greet him, she settles for a sweet smile.

The teen tries to reply but ends up stuttering and his voice cracks halfway through, to his horror. Lincoln pulls him down to sit before he embarrasses himself further. Aden quickly stuffs a piece of toast in his mouth.

Lexa touches Clarke’s shoulder. “I'll be right back with some drinks, okay?” Clarke nods and Lexa is off back into the house.

Gustus settles into his seat at the head of the table, picking up a set of cards sitting face down. “Now which one of you cheats looked at my cards while I was gone?”

“Aw we don't need to do that, Pop,” Lincoln says. “It's not fair when you're already losing.”

Gustus blusters at the idea he was losing, pointedly ignoring the extra stack of cards in his hand.

“Clarke you take my hand,” Lincoln says, handing his cards to her. She tries to protest on the grounds of not knowing how to play, but the whole table insists. “It's easy to play,” Lincoln says, “I'll show you. It’s called _Bullshit_.”

The point of the game is simply to get rid of cards. They go around the circle numerically putting down cards until someone runs out. The key is to put extra cards down and not get caught. Putting down two fives and an ace and claiming it's three fives. Anyone else can call someone out by calling _bullshit_ and the losing party gets the full discard pile added to their hand. Easy.

“Alright, what are we on?” Gustus says, shuffling his cards. Someone says fours so Gustus shuffled around till he pulls three cards from his hand. “Three fours.” He sets them facedown in the center of the table, starting a new discard pile.

Clarke raises her eyebrows, looking at her own hand where she can clearly see two fours. She looks at Lincoln, who nods.

“Um. Bullshit?”

Gustus huffs. “What was that ya said? Couldn't hear ya.”

Clarke glances around to encouraging nods. Her confidence build. “I said _bull_ shit!”

Gustus laughs and flips over the cards to reveal his bluff. “Well well, looks like we got a player!” He adds the cards back into his hand.

The game continues around the circle a few times before Lexa returns with two glasses of strawberry lemonade (made with actual strawberries, Clarke discovers). They deal Lexa in with the discard pile and continue the game.

It only takes a few rounds before Clarke gets a hang of the game. Mostly.

“Three jacks,” Lexa says, dropping three of the cards face down on the growing pile. Clarke eyes her suspiciously. Lexa gives away nothing in her expression but her tone had seemed _too_ casual in Clarke's opinion.

“Bullshit.”

Lexa blinks and looks at Clarke like she'd forgotten she was there. “Excuse me?”

Clarke smirks. “You heard me.”

Lexa leans forward slowly, predatorily, her own smirk growing. “Are you sure you want to do that, Clarke?” At the blonde’s nod, Lexa turns and points out a chalkboard hung on side of the house beside the sliding door. It's worn with time and frequent use, but a list of names is clearly visible, with hash marks next to them. “Do you see that? What does it say at the top there?”

Clarke's confidence falters a bit as she reads it. “It says _Commander_.”

Lexa points to herself. “That'd be me. I am the reigning bullshit _champion_ around here.”

Lincoln scoffs and Gustus rolls his eyes but nobody disputes it. Lexa reaches over to the discard pile and flips her cards over with a flourish, revealing three jacks. Clarke groans. Gustus laughs his full-belly laugh and pats her arm in sympathy.

“See,” Lexa says, leaning back in her chair as Clarke gathers the hefty pile together to add to her hand. “Bullshit is all about _reading_ your opponent.”

“Oh yeah?” Clarke scoffs, shuffling till she finds all the queens in her hand. “Three queens.”

Lincoln calls out two kings next and without looking, Lexa says, “Bullshit.” He curses and flips his cards over revealing a king and an ace.

“Take my dear cousin here,” Lexa grins, glancing at Lincoln. “Can't lie to save his life.”

Lincoln sticks his tongue out at her. “Just means I’m more pure of heart, Commander.”

“Alright then,” Clarke says, “What can you read in me?”

Lexa takes her time answering, regarding her thoughtfully. “I'm still figuring you out Clarke Griffin.”

Clarke wonders if that’s true.

After that, as if they’d planned it, Lexa’s family wordlessly begin to gang up on Lexa. Gustus distracts her with loud conversation. Aden scoots his chair back, claiming the sun is in his eyes, putting him in easy range of seeing Lexa’s cards. Lincoln tries to make Lexa forget her number when it’s her turn, to get her to make a mistake. Lexa seems wise to their tricks, resigned and confident she’ll win despite it.

What she doesn’t count on, is the inclusion of Clarke on these antics. Clarke too, is surprised at how quickly they all embrace her as one the family. She takes immediate and unforgiving advantage. They signal Clarke when Lexa is bluffing, and Clarke calls her out, relentlessly.

It’s great fun until Lexa inevitably catches on.

She pulls two cards from her hand and sets them on the pile. “Two sevens.” Nothing about her expression reveals any sort of deception, but Clarke is still suspicious, due to the two sevens in her own hand.

Clarke glances at the others looking for the signal but they give conflicting signs. Lincoln is shaking his head, with his eyebrows raised. Aden nods, pretending to scratch his temple. Nyko strokes his beard and—was he nodding? What even was the signal again? “Um. Bullshit?” It comes out as a question.

Lexa narrows her eyes at Clarke, and suddenly notices that Clarke is looking not at her, or the cards, but at _Aden_ and _Linc—_ “Hey!” She pushes away from the table. “You!”

Aden breaks immediately. He cackles and rushes to the other side of the table to escape. Lexa looks around and sees everyone's gleefully guilty looks. She points an accusatory finger at everyone and they all laugh at being caught. “All of you! Betrayed by my own family!” Her gaze settles on Clarke, who's barely suppressing a face-splitting grin. “Cheater!”

“All's fair in love and war, honey,” Clarke giggles. Lexa advances on her, grinning devilishly and Clarke shrieks. “It was Aden's idea! He made me do it!”

“Hey!” Aden whines.

“Oh was it now?” Lexa whirls on him. Aden shoots off into the house with Lexa hot on his heels, the sounds of their laughter echoing after.

“No running in the house!” Indra shouts after them as she walks out into the deck. “I swear those two might as well be blood-related. Now what did I miss?”

“Clarke here held Lexa to her lowest _Bullshit_ score since Junior High,” Lincoln says proudly, patting Clarke on the back. “You're gonna have to come back again soon. Knock the Commander down a few pegs.”

Clarke laughs. “What, were all of her other girlfriends _Bullshit_ losers or something?”

“What other girlfriends?” Lincoln looks at her strangely. “Lexa never brings anyone home. I don't even think she dates much.”

Clarke’s smile slips away and something deep in her heart shifts painfully. She startles when a firm hand lands on her shoulder.

“Don't you break her heart now,” Indra says, seriously.

Clarke swallows hard. She wants to nod, to assure Indra she’d never break Lexa's beautiful heart, but how can she promise that? How can this possibly end well after everything? She's in too deep now.

She's saved from answering by Lexa's return. Aden's riding piggyback and laughing as Lexa lurches out onto the deck under his weight. Lexa dumps him back into his seat, straightening up to stretch her back.

“Alright, what do you say, kid?” Lexa says, planting her hands on her hips.

Aden rolls his eyes. “Commander’s still the best.”

“That's right. You all better keep my name at the top of the board.” Lexa nods at the chalkboard, gaining a few good natured heckles from her family, which she ignores. “Clarke, you wanna head down to the boardwalk now?”

It's nearly noon and, as her stomach reminds her, lunchtime. Clarke nods and jumps up from her seat, thanking everyone for the game.

 

The boardwalk is close enough to walk but they take Lexa's bike anyway. It's a leisurely ride down quiet back streets with a pleasant breeze of salty air. The pier is small but uncrowded, with a strip of restaurants, stores and small food stands lining the boardwalk.

Lexa directs them to a taco stand that apparently has the best tacos on the island, in Lexa's opinion. They walk along the boardwalk, then the pier, eating their food, and Lexa points out the places that have been there since her childhood.

“I worked at that frozen yogurt stand for a couple summers during high school,” Lexa says. She seems eager to tell Clarke anything about her past Clarke might want to know. Perhaps she’s just relieved that Clarke hasn’t pulled anything crazy yet today. Clarke isn't complaining. With every story she becomes just a little more endeared.

“Sounds like a nice job.”

“Well it gets pretty crazy, the hotter it is,” Lexa continues, grimacing. “People love their frozen yogurt and _will_ fight for it. You gotta be tough to deal with the crowds.”

“ _Commanding_ , even?” Clarke teases, elbowing her lightly in the ribs, and laughs as Lexa's ears go red. “You haven't told me how that name happened.”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “Well I was _four_ and very into superhero cartoons, hence the cape. I still didn’t really understand what my parents did or the concept of military ranks. My dad tried to explain the chain of command, and for some reason I latched onto the word _commander._  Made everyone call me it for months. My dad loved it. It was one of those nicknames that just stick.”

“The Little Commander,” Clarke smiles, imagining a tiny Lexa with her red cape, ordering her parents around.

“After I came here, Gustus picked it up. Him and my dad were a lot alike.”

“That's sweet. Like a little part of your dad is still with you.” Clarke understands how lost loved ones could live on in the simplest things.

“Yeah,” Lexa agrees. She elbows Clarke in the side. “Alright, now you owe me an embarrassing childhood story.”

“What? Your story wasn't embarrassing, it was cute!”

Lexa's cheeks go pink. “It's embarrassing when I'm telling the story to the girl I like!”

Clarke laughs, but inside her stomach swoops at that phrase _the girl I like_ , like some sort of preteen. She leans into it anyway, looping her arm around Lexa's. “The girl you like huh?”

Lexa rolls her eyes, fighting a smile. “Maybe just a little.”

“Just a little,” Clarke echoes, turning shy.

Lexa swallows hard, feeling her insides warm. “Look at us, two people who like each other, walking by the beach on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. What could be better?”

Clarke pretends to think. “Hmm, frozen yogurt maybe?”

Lexa pinches Clarke for that.

 

They circle back around to where Lexa parked her motorcycle, passing by a set of concrete stairs Lexa points out (rather enthusiastically) as the place where she broke her arm skateboarding once. Clarke can't decide if she's disapproving of the recklessness or attracted to the idea of Lexa skateboarding. Equal measures probably.

“I hope you were wearing a helmet at least,” Clarke says. “My mom’s a trauma surgeon, skateboards give her conniption fits.”

“Oh Indra would've made _sure_ the fall killed me if I hadn't. I don't know if you noticed, but she's very…authoritative.”

“Really? Indra? Nah,” Clarke laughs.

Lexa thinks back to something Clarke told her the first night they met. “Is your mom why you were a paramedic?”

“If my mom had had her way I would be knee-deep in a surgical residency program right now,” Clarke says, sighing. “In high school I was set on becoming a doctor just like her, but then my dad got sick and I couldn't stand to be in hospitals anymore. Paramedic was sort of a compromise. After a while though I just, I couldn't handle it anymore. I _want_ to help people but…” Clarke trails off with a frown and light shake of her head. “Art and writing was always my escape. So I changed my major to journalism and haven't looked back.”

Lexa treads carefully, sensing the shift in Clarke’s mood. “And how did your mom feel about that?”

“She took it alright, I guess. Disappointed, obviously.”

They're back at the long row of parking flanking the boardwalk now where Lexa left her motorcycle. Lexa's eyes alight with an idea to take Clarke's mind off the turn of conversation. “Hey, do you want to learn to ride a motorcycle?”

“Oh uh…” Clarke says, frowning uncertainly.

Lexa tugs on Clarke’s hand. “Come on, it'll be fun. And I'll be right there with you so you'll be completely safe.”

The adorable enthusiasm Lexa exudes is infectious and Clarke can't resist. It actually does sound kind of fun. It's something her mother never would have allowed, having personally seen too many motorcycle crash victims. As nervous as it makes her, she trusts Lexa to keep her safe.

She lets Lexa lead her to the bike and direct her on how to sit, where to place her hands and feet, and what all the parts do. Clarke listens closely, hoping to learn it all on the first go, but she hasn't driven anything since her mother’s SUV in high school, and that was an automatic. The concept of a manual clutch is still foreign to her. There's a lot more buttons and gears then she was expecting, and a lot more steps just for starting it.

Lexa is a patient teacher though. She sits behind Clarke and wraps her hands over Clarke's to direct them and repeats the instructions into Clarke's ear.

“Okay, now hold in the clutch,” Lexa says squeezing Clarke's left hand till Clarke is gripping the lever tight against the handle. “Make sure it's in neutral,” she continues, dropping her hand to pat Clarke's leg. Clarke forgets for a moment what to do, too preoccupied with Lexa’s hand on her bare thigh to do much critical thinking. Lexa’s boot nudges the outside of Clarke's foot. “Right here, the gear shift.”

“R-right,” Clarke says, tapping her foot on the lever. It clicks down once, then resists, indicating she's reached first gear. She hooks her foot under it and clicks up. Neutral.

“Kill switch.” Lexa flips the switch on the right handlebar to _On_. “And ignition.” Another switch, this one held down. The engine rumbles as it starts and tries to turn over. “Give it a little gas,” Lexa says, leaning closer to speak directly into Clarke's ear to be heard over the bike. Clarke shivers and twists the throttle too hard making the engine roar and shudder.

“A little!” Lexa laughs, easing Clarke's hand back. The engine sputters, turns over and settles into a steady rumble.

“Are you ready?”

Clarke nods, and without prompting, kicks the gear shift down into first.

“Ease the clutch out and give it some gas.”

Clarke relaxes her white knuckled grip on the clutch, letting the bike start to roll forward. She pushes the throttle too hard and the bike lurches forward, knocking her back into Lexa’s yielding body. There's a sharp intake of breath by her ear, followed by the soft puffs of Lexa’s laughter against her neck.

Immediately, Clarke lets go of the handlebars and the engine stalls. Lexa pulls the clutch and the brake in quickly to stop them, easily. They hadn't actually been going very fast anyway. The bike idles under them as they come to a halt.

“Oh my god,” Clark laughs, heart beating too fast. They'd only moved about a dozen yards maybe, but the raw power of the engine is exhilarating. “Sorry.”

“Hey, it's ok. You're ok.” Lexa drops her hand to squeeze Clarke's hip. “That was good for your first try.”

Clarke giggles, turning her head to look at Lexa. “What, letting go of the handlebars?”

“Well,” Lexa concedes. “Not that part. You should probably not do that again.” She suddenly notices how close they are as her eyes flicker down to Clarke's lips.

Clarke wants to tease her more, maybe say something flirty, or maybe just evade the moment altogether, but she also really wants to kiss Lexa. The urge feels entirely natural. No agenda behind it, not trying manipulate Lexa or show off, but just because she likes kissing Lexa.

A car horn beeping alarmingly close is their only warning before a wave of dirty water splashes over them. Clarke and Lexa both yelp, though by their positions Lexa gets the majority of it. Somehow neither of them had noticed the large puddle directly beside them, straight in the path of traffic.

“Hey, what the fuck, man?” Lexa yells after the van as it drives away. It beeps its horn again in what might be an apology, or perhaps just patronizing acknowledgement. For a hot second, she contemplates running after the van but then Clarke is laughing, a full body laugh that, because of her position pressed up against Clarke's back, Lexa feels all over.

A drop of dirty puddle water drips down Clarke's face, but her eyes are shining with amusement. “So about what you said earlier, that motorcycles are hot and chicks dig them?” Clarke indicates their respective dirty appearances. “Chicks dig _this?_ ”

Lexa can't help but laugh with her. She flicks the kill switch on the bike so it shudders off completely and she can drop her hands from the handlebars to pinch at Clarke's sides. Clarke shrieks and squirms to get away but she's trapped between the bike and Lexa and honestly she doesn't really want to be anywhere else.

 

///

 

The driveway is empty of cars when they return to Lexa's house. Inside is quiet, a sharp contrast to the earlier barely controlled chaos.

“Hello?” Lexa calls, but there's no answer. “I guess everyone left.” She looks around and spots a note pinned to the bulletin board with her name on it.

“Oh they all went to Aunt Adina’s,” Lexa says, reading over Gustus’ note. “The boys probably wanted to play basketball. They live right next to a park.”

Clarke nods, shivering a bit. In the sun, her water spattered clothes hadn't bothered her as much, but after the brief bike ride and now standing in the cool air of the house, she's feeling the chill.

“Gustus left something for you,” Lexa says as she reaches the end of the note where there's a _PS._ “He didn't know how long you'd be staying so he left that recipe you wanted.”

Clarke blinks. The envelope Lexa offers her has her name scrawled across it in looping letters. She'd honestly forgotten about asking for the recipe in the first place (homemade cherry pie, Lexa's favorite).

“Oh,” Clarke says. “Um.” She takes the envelope but doesn't know what to do with it as her clothes are still wet. She eventually sets it back down on the table, to grab on her way out.

Lexa takes her hand and starts to lead her upstairs. “Come on, let's change out of these clothes. You can take a shower too, if you want.”

Warm water sounds heavenly right now. “I'd love that,” Clarke says. More family photos line the wall beside the stairs, glimpses of a happy loving family—Lexa's family. Clarke has to force herself not to look.

Lexa steers her into the bathroom. It's a cozy little room with fuzzy bath mats and kitschy decorations on the walls. The shower curtain has quaint pastel flowers on it.

“Oh, yikes,“ Lexa laughs as she sees herself in the mirror. She really had gotten the worst of it, but at least her hair is dark. Clarke's blonde locks are streaked with dirt and sand, as is her white shirt. She runs her hand through her hair, wincing at the catch of a tangle.

Lexa moves over to the tub to turn the shower on, twisting the knobs back and forth till she finds the right spot. “Shower takes a bit to warm up,” she says, sticking her hand under the water to test the temperature. “And if anyone flushes a toilet on the block you _will_ feel it.”

When she turns around, she finds Clarke sitting on the closed toilet lid, looking down at her lap. “Clarke?”

Clarke shakes her head, attempting to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. Lexa crouches down in front of her and she's alarmed to see tears forming at the edges of Clarke's eyes.

“Hey,” Lexa says, softly, resting her hands on Clarke's knees. “What is it?”

“Nothing's wrong,” Clarke insists. “Everything is great. Everyone has been so welcoming.” She looks at her lap again, brows furrowing. “Your family likes me.”

Lexa pats her leg, gently. “Honey, that's a good thing.”

Clarke nods quickly, feeling silly for getting so emotional. “No I know, it's just. This place, your family… I haven't—it's been a long time since I've had that. I mean I barely talk to my mom anymore, not since my dad died. And earlier when your uncle hugged me, it felt like—it, it felt like a _father's_ hug, ya know? And today has just been so wonderful, you showing me around where you grew up and you didn't have to do that, you didn't have to do any of this for _me_ and I—I'm sorry—”

“Hey no, don't apologize,” Lexa says, interrupting Clarke's ramble. She ducks her head down to catch Clarke's eye. “Listen to me. You are so sweet, and funny and beautiful and _so_ kind, of _course_ my family likes you. It's why _I_ lo—” Lexa cuts herself off abruptly, eyes widening the barest fraction, and says something else. “It's why you're _you_.”

Clarke stares at Lexa, eyes darting between Lexa’s, conflicting feelings whirling inside her.

Lexa rubs soothing little circles on Clarke's knees. “I brought you here because I _wanted_ to okay? I wanted to let you into this part of my life. I wanted you to know _me._ ”

Clarke feels her insides twist, the guilt in her heart threatening to drown her. Here’s Lexa being honest and open, willingly letting Clarke in, unaware that she’s inviting in a lie.

Clarke looks at Lexa, with her earnest patience and all at once, she can't do it anymore. Can't keep her walls up, can't keep Lexa from burrowing further into her heart, when it feels so wrong to keep her out. She doesn't want to fight her attraction any longer, doesn't want to play games for some stupid article she doesn't truly care about.

All she cares about right now is this kind, patient, beautiful woman sitting in front of her, trying to do whatever she can to help.

Instead of answering, she leans forward and kisses her. It's not like their first kiss, not at all, nor any after that. It feels new and yet still familiar. Lexa's soft lips moving gently against hers, the small flex of her jaw under Clarke's palm, all feel like the most natural thing in the world.

After a moment Clarke pulls back, thumb stroking across the high arch of Lexa's cheekbone. Lexa's eyes flutter open in a daze, looking at her with such awe that it isn't hard for Clarke to decide.

Without a word, Clarke sits up straight and raises both arms over her head. Lexa follows the movement, eyes widening. After a moment and a reassuring nod from Clarke, Lexa lifts the hem of Clarke's shirt and slowly drags it up. She lets her fingertips skate along Clarke's sides innocently, leaving behind goosebumps.

As soon as her shirt is off, Clarke reaches behind to unsnap her bra and pull it off. Lexa swallows hard and struggles to maintain eye contact. She can't quite keep her eyes from fluttering down to all the newly revealed pale skin, though, before moving back up.

Clarke takes Lexa's hands and pulls them both up to stand. She grabs Lexa's shirt and tugs it up without ceremony, giggling when it gets caught around Lexa's head for a brief moment. When it's off, she leans in to kiss her again, at the same time reaching around to remove Lexa's bra as well.

Lexa breath catches when their bare chests come into contact. She brings her hands up to cradle Clarke's jaw, guiding her gently into a new angle to deepen their kiss.

Clarke sinks into it, forgetting for a moment, her original plan. Kissing Lexa like this, without care for appearance or ulterior motives, is better than she imagined. Her hands drift down to Lexa's waist, sliding against soft skin she's touched before but still feels like a blessing. When Lexa pulls back a fraction to shift sides, gently bumping their noses together, the small breath of air is enough to break Clarke's haze.

She drags her hands down around Lexa's waist to the hem of her jeans. The tips of her fingers slip under the edge and tug, drawing a faint gasp from Lexa.

Her breath is heavy against Clarke's lips as she pants, her hands skating down Clarke's arms. “Are you sure?”

Part of Clarke wants to roll her eyes because they've literally been enthusiastically making out half naked for several minutes now, she's given _plenty_ of signals, but another part is charmed by Lexa's gallantry, her clear nerves in spite of all her bravado. Consent is sexy after all. Clarke takes a deep breath and nods, their noses brushing with the movement.

For good measure, she says, breathlessly, “yes, are you?”

The words are barely out of her mouth before Lexa is saying “God, yes,” and surging against her to connect their lips again.

Clarke unbuttons Lexa's jeans, barely getting the zipper down before she's threading her hands inside around Lexa's hips. The move is meant to push the jeans off, but she can't help first simply sliding her hands down to cup Lexa's ass. She's rewarded with a moan, muffled by their kiss, that sets Lexa off into a heightened state of desperation.

And they have no reason to be desperate really (yet) or hurried, they've got all the time right now, but this feels overdue and they're both still wearing _clothes_ , _god_ why aren't they _naked_ yet—

Lexa speeds things up for the both of them by pushing her jeans down then going for Clarke's shorts. In short order they're both tripping out of their clothes and finally stepping over the edge of the tub.

The warm water pours over them as they take a moment to adjust to the temperature. Lexa shivers as her back presses against the tiles. She fumbles with the showerhead, pushing it aside so it beats against the wall instead of their bodies.

Clarke shuffles back a half step, as far as the tub will allow. Her eyes trail down Lexa's long neck to her prominent collarbones, down her heaving chest, lingering on her small pert breasts and pretty pink nipples already begging for attention, down further to hard, defined abs, and a small trim strip of hair on her mound. Clarke notices several tattoos she's never seen: a cluster of flowers on her upper thigh, an infinity symbol on the opposite hip bone, and a line of loopy cursive writing trailing down her ribs. She longs to trace each line of ink with fingers, with lips, but there would be time for that later. Now she has more urgent matters.

She finally brings her eyes back up and finds Lexa completing a similar journey. Her eyes are nearly black with a small sliver of green at the edges and her gaze is hotter than fire.

“You're so beautiful,” Lexa murmurs. She tugs Clarke back in for a deep kiss, and Clarke feels her belly swoop with butterflies. Clarke presses one hand to the tiles beside Lexa's head to ground herself and sends the other one roaming Lexa's body.

Clarke shuffles her feet to slot one thigh between Lexa's and reaches down to hike Lexa's leg around her hips. It brings Lexa's center in swift contact with slick burning skin, breaking her out of their kiss with a moan. Lexa plants her foot on the edge of the tub to give herself leverage to slowly roll her hips.

Pleasure sparks in Clarke's own center and she groans with it, pressing her forehead against Lexa's. She can see Lexa's pleased smirk as she repeats the motion while scratching her nails across Clarke's hips.

Growling playfully, Clarke grabs Lexa's wrists and pins them together above her head with one hand. She captures Lexa's gasp with a hot open mouthed kiss. Her free hand slides down to palm one breast, her nail finding a taunt nipple.

Clarke trails open mouthed kisses down Lexa's jaw and neck until she reaches the junction of her shoulder. She pulls back just a fraction to watch Lexa, fascinated by the strain of her chest up to her neck arching off the tiles, countered by the stuttered jerk of her hips against Clarke's thigh.

The lines of her body are flawless, made more enticing by the water streaming across her skin. Clarke is struck by the urge to draw her, every curve and flat plane, even knowing she could never properly capture her.

Clarke tucks those thoughts away for later consideration and focuses on the matter at hand. Namely, Lexa's neglected breast. She ducks down and captures it in her mouth, licking the water beading across it.

“Clarke,” Lexa gasps, as thumb and forefinger tweak her nipple again. “ _Please_.”

“Hm, please what?” Clarke murmurs, lips still against skin.

“Please…” She says again. Her wrists strain under Clarke's grasp. “Let me touch you.”

Clarke lifts up and this time Lexa's quiet desperation doesn't inspire fascination so much as fuel Clarke's own need. The light pressure between her thighs isn't enough, she needs Lexa's talented hands on her body or she might burst into flames. She's wet and throbbing and it has nothing to do with the shower.

Lexa's hands go immediately to Clarke's ass, pulling their bodies tighter together. Clarke groans, dropping her cheek to Lexa's shoulder, nosing into her neck. Her hand is still against Lexa's breast, palming it reflexively.

“Lexa,” Clarke says, almost whining, barely audible over the hiss of the shower spray.

Lexa slips one hand between their bodies, down to Clarke’s center. They moan in unison when her fingers slip through Clarke’s drenched folds, over her clit and down further. She starts a slow exploration, looping her fingers around in a circle, wider, then smaller tight circles, always passing over her clit, matching the steady roll of Clarke’s hips.

Clarke’s breathing growing heavier and she has to keep one hand planted on the tiles to keep her precarious balance. She kisses up Lexa's neck to find her lips once more. Her soft moans are quickly swallowed by Lexa's mouth and the press of Lexa's tongue against hers.

Clarke pulls back a fraction, pressing her forehead to Lexa's and mumbles, “Inside.” Lexa quickly complies, sliding her fingers down to find Clarke's entrance. She works one finger in, and, finding her more than wet enough, slips a second one.

“ _Yes,_ ” Clarke gasps, rolling her hips down to take Lexa's fingers in further. The pressure inside her is building, the peak getting closer and closer. It feels wonderful, perfect even, a simple pleasure that makes _sense._  No confusing motives or lies. Clarke gives herself to the feeling and falls over the edge.

Lexa’s hips are still moving even as her fingers slow and slip out. Clarke catches her breath, shifts her focus from her own to Lexa’s pleasure. She slides one hand down to Lexa’s ass, as Lexa had done to her, and pulls their bodies tight together.

“Clarke,” Lexa gasps against Clarke’s lips. Their bodies move with singular focus, and Clarke can tell Lexa’s getting close by her ragged breathing and the nails she digs into Clarke’s hips. “Clarke,” she says again, higher-pitched, gasping.

Lexa’s head tilts back against the shower tiles, her mouth open wordlessly as she chases the edge. Clarke pulls back to watch. Lexa is already gorgeous, but this—this is heavenly.

Afterward, they spend long moments enjoying the closeness. Lexa runs her hands up and down Clarke’s back, while Clarke presses small, slow kisses against Lexa’s jaw and neck.

After a while, Clarke sighs, glancing over to the shower spray, still beating against the tiles beside them. “I suppose we should actually shower at some point.”

Lexa's laughter is soft and warm against her neck. “We should probably hurry. The hot water won't last forever. I'm surprised it's lasted this—”

And of course irony chooses that moment for the water to go ice cold. They both shriek and scramble away from the stream, barely managing to not slip. Lexa takes the bullet for both of them by diving back in to shut the faucet off. She looks back at Clarke, huddled against the end of the tub and can't help the laughter that bubbles up out of her throat. Clarke joins in and they're still laughing as they hurry out of the tub to grab some towels.

Instead of immediately drying off, Clarke wraps hers around her shoulders, trying to quell her shivering. She steps closer to Lexa, who's in the process of folding her towel around her chest.

“Hey, wait,” Clarke says. When Lexa turns, Clarke opens up her towel. “I’m cold, c’mere.”

Lexa blushes, despite their recent shower activities, and Clarke loves her for it. She doesn't hesitate though, to open up her own towel and step into Clarke, sliding her arms around Clarke's waist. Clarke tucks hers around Lexa's back, cocooning them in their towels, with their flushed body heat captured inside.

The shivers cease almost at once. A burst of cold water isn't enough to dispel the heat built between them. Clarke sighs, tucking her nose into Lexa's neck and breathing in her clean scent.

Lexa trembles the barest amount, her breath catching, eyelashes fluttering against Clarke's cheek.

“Clarke…” Lexa says, softly. Somehow the moment feels too intimate for regular voices. “I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't intend for you to feel overwhelmed by this trip.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Don't apologize. Your family is lovely, and so are you.” She lifts her head so she can look into Lexa's curious soft eyes. She wants Lexa to see her sincerity. “ _I_ should apologize…the last week has been—I know you must think I'm—”

“Perfect,” Lexa says, cutting her off.

“Lexa…”

“No, you don't have to apologize either. Okay?”

Clarke studies her for a long moment. Finally, she whispers, “okay.” She leans in to kiss Lexa, slowly, languidly. Enjoying the simple pleasure of kissing.

After a while the gentle warmth between then begins to shift into arousal again—there's only so long you can make out with a beautiful naked woman before your body reacts. Clarke shifts them around till she can back up into the vanity. “Now I know of a better way we can warm up.” She hops up into the counter and tugs Lexa in till she's pressed close between her legs.

Lexa raises an eyebrow. “Do tell.” She plants her hands on Clarke's hips, leans in close, but doesn't quite reconnect their lips

“We don't have to talk at all,” Clarke murmurs, and kisses her.

 

///

 

Twilight is growing darker when they take the return ferry that evening. They don't talk, just enjoy the quiet intimacy of being together, Clarke resting against Lexa’s chest, with Lexa’s arms wrapped around her. The air is still warm and the ride back to Clarke's apartment on Lexa’s motorcycle is pleasant.

Clarke's reluctant to separate from Lexa but she knows it's for the best. There’s a few articles she needs to get started on for work, including…she shakes her head, she doesn't want to even think about _that_ right now. Not when she’s still riding high from the day.

Lexa climbs off after her, needlessly helping with Clarke's bag, but Clarke lets her anyway, feeling stupidly giddy. Clarke turns to her, waiting at the foot of the stairs leading up to her building, unwilling to part just yet.

“Sure you don't want me to walk you to your door?” Lexa says, smiling hopefully.

A very enticing smile that makes Clarke want to give in immediately. But if she lets Lexa walk her to her door, Clarke knows she'll let Lexa inside for a drink. That drink would lead to more and eventually Clarke would let Lexa _stay._ And then…

Definitely can't let Lexa come in.

Clarke turns her down gently. “I have some work I need to get started on tonight.” Lexa nods, unsurprised but still disappointed. Clarke's disappointed too, to be honest, but it is what it is. “I had such a great time today.”

“Me too.” Lexa takes Clarke's hands, carefully. “Listen, I have this thing to go to tomorrow for work. A gala for that big account I told you about. Would you go with me?”

Clarke doesn't have to think about it. “Okay.”

Lexa looks at their joined hands, clearing her throat before looking up at Clarke again. She grows serious. “I’d like you to go as my girlfriend.”

Clarke swallows at the utter sincerity in Lexa’s eyes. Clarke's called Lexa her girlfriend numerous times this past week, has even planned their wedding and future children, but none of that felt half as genuine as this. Lexa’s gaze is steady, hopeful, her green eyes bright in the fading light of evening. “You calling me your girlfriend now?”

Lexa's lips tick up at the sides. “Yeah, I am. What do you say?”

“Tomorrow would be… day ten?” Clarke asks, carefully.

Something flickers in Lexa's expression, but her voice remains steady. “Day ten.”

Clarke considers it, _seriously_ thinks about the possibility of dating Lexa for real. More days like today, really being with Lexa like two normal girls in a new relationship. It's hard to imagine with this assignment still looming over her head, but the thought gives her a thrill. _Maybe._  “Maybe after that, we’ll know.”

It's a roundabout answer, but it seems to satisfy Lexa. She smiles, shyly, like she's just asked her crush to junior prom and been accepted. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. 7 o’clock.”

Clarke smiles back and allows herself one (long) kiss with Lexa before pulling away. She doesn't get far before Lexa's tugging her back by the wrist.

“Oh also, don't make any plans for day 13 okay?” Lexa digs out her phone from her pocket and flicks through a couple screens until she can show Clarke an order confirmation screen. Knicks tickets for game seven. “They're not as good as the seats you had, but I promise it'll be just as fun.”

The Knicks game they went to last week feels like a lifetime ago already. Clarke just grins. “I'm sure it'll be amazing.” She leans in for another (long) kiss before dragging herself away with murmured goodbyes.

She's still stupidly grinning when she makes it up the two flights of stairs and into her apartment. She leans against the door with closed eyes, sighing happily.

Opening her eyes though, her attention zeroes in on the notes strewn across her coffee table. Notes for the article she's writing about _Lexa_. The guilt she'd shoved away comes back with a vengeance, choking her throat tight. Her phone is out and dialing her boss’ number before she even fully comprehends what she's doing.

Callie picks up after two rings with a brisk, “Callie Cartwig speaking.”

“Callie, hey, it's Clarke. Um I need to talk to you. About the article. The um. The dating one?”

“Yes? What about it?”

Clarke can imagine Callie in her office, at her absurdly large glass surfaced desk, notes and layouts strewn out awaiting her approval. Even while taking calls, she keeps working, putting her callers on speakerphone to keep her hands free.

“I. I don't think,” Clarke clears her throat. “I can't write it. I've gotten to know this girl and I just, I—”

“Clarke.” There's a clicking sound that may be Callie setting her pen down and giving her full attention. Her tone is firm, no nonsense. “Have you ever seen me wear patches or insignia anywhere on my clothing?”

 _What?_ “Um, no.”

“That's because I’m not your girl scout leader, I’m your boss. We've already finalized the cover and the layout. You'll write the article. I want it on my desk 7am Monday morning.”

Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose. “Okay, but Callie—”

“No buts, Clarke. You'll write the article. Because you're a professional.”

The line goes dead before Clarke can reply. She sighs to her empty apartment. “Yes, I am.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epynimous day has arrived. This ones a roller coaster of emotion. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Sunday feels both too short and dragging long by the time seven rolls around. Anticipation at seeing Clarke again has Lexa eagerly awaiting the gala, but dread at dealing with her boss, with the Jahas, with the pressure for the event to succeed, sits heavy in her stomach. Though she excels at it, Lexa's never been fond of the showmanship side of advertising, the shaking hands and impressing clients. She'd prefer to let her work speak for her.

At least she'll have a beautiful woman on her arm for the evening. Always a good thing to have in high stress situations. The limo her agency had rented for her pulls up in front of Clarke's building. It's closing in on seven, so Lexa gets out to wait for Clarke on the sidewalk.

She wishes she knew which apartment Clarke is in, so she could go to Clarke's door, but regardless she doesn't have to wait long. Clarke emerges like a ray of golden sunlight in the fading light. She's wearing a yellow gown with a plunging neckline that shows a fair bit of cleavage. It hugs her curves in a way that makes Lexa's throat go dry. Clarke's hair is pulled back in a twist at the nape of her neck, errant curls escaping.

Lexa herself had opted for a neatly tailored pair of dress black pants and a blazer, her blouse dipping lower than she typically wore, with high heels. She'd left her hair down, curled and gathered over one shoulder. Octavia had insisted she looked, quote, ‘ _dapper as fuck_ ’ but Lexa doubts anyone will be looking at her when she's with Clarke. She's not at all sorry.

“You're beautiful,” Lexa blurts out, without even greeting Clarke. She blushes when Clarke giggles, but doesn't take it back.

“You’re looking pretty gorgeous yourself, babe,” Clarke teases. She means it though, Clarke can barely even handle how good Lexa looks with her hair blown out in waves and smokey eye makeup making her look intimidatingly sexy.

Lexa takes her hand to help her into the limo. It's not a long ride to the gala, but Lexa pours them each a glass of champagne from the small cooler anyway. Better to calm their nerves.

“Cheers,” Clarke smiles, clinking the rims of their champagne flutes together.

Lexa downs her glass in one long drink. It helps soften her tense muscles a little, spreading a warm feeling through her chest. Clarke turns sideways on the leather seat, her knee pressed against Lexa's thigh, and slips her arm around the back, behind Lexa's shoulders.

“Nervous?”

Lexa nods once. “The Jahas are an important client. This diamond account will be the biggest one I've ever handled.”

“The Jahas?” Clarke tilts her head. “I knew a Wells Jaha growing up actually. We attended the same prep school in DC. I think they're related through a great aunt or something but I never met them.”

“Prep school,” Lexa raises her eyebrows teasingly. “How posh.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “If it makes any difference, I hated it. Too uptight. I couldn't wait to leave.” Clarke takes a sip of her champagne before her eyes light up. “Oh there was this one time…”

Hearing Clarke talk about some silly story from her past puts Lexa at ease more than any alcohol could. She doesn't even notice that they've arrived at the gala until the valet opens the door to usher them out.

Lexa helps Clarke out of the car, but it's Clarke who loops their arms together so they can walk in together. The rented ballroom is sparkling with twinkling silver light, mimicking the glow of diamonds, against red velvet curtains. Round tables with crisp white tablecloths are arranged around the floor, before a stage where a four piece band is still setting up. Off to the side is an open bar, with neatly dressed bartenders serving up guests. There’s a few people milling about in small groups, but most of the guests are only just now arriving.

Near the bar, Lexa spots her boss and coworkers talking to the Jahas.

“You're going to do great,” Clarke assures her, squeezing Lexa’s arm.

“Thanks,” Lexa says, breathing out a heavy breath. “I'll get us a couple of drinks from the bar, okay? And while I do that…” Lexa leads Clarke to a booth set up near the entrance. What must be millions of dollars worth of diamonds are laid out carefully on red velvet pillows beneath glass display cases. “Please, pick out whatever you'd like to wear.”

Clarke gasps, eyes taking in the sparkling diamonds in disbelief. “I can wear those?”

Lexa smiles, fondly. “Yes, you can. I'll be right back, alright?” She takes Clarke's hand and kisses her knuckles, feeling oddly formal in such a fancy event.

Clarke blushes, watching Lexa walk away (those heels make her legs look fucking fantastic) before turning to the table. She's examining a row of small tasteful diamond bracelets, when an older man steps up beside her.

“If I may, madam?” His voice has a distinct French accent. “A beauty such as yours deserves only the very best.” He urges her further down the table and points to an intricate diamond necklace that looks like it probably costs more than Clarke's yearly salary. Easily.

She immediately protests. “ _That_? Oh no, no, no, no, no, I couldn't. I couldn't.”

The man waves off her protests. “I insist, my dear.” He indicates to the attendant to get the necklace for him. It looks even more expensive outside the case, a large heavy diamond at the center, with an array of smaller diamonds surrounding it and lining up the chain. The man takes the necklace and holds it up for Clarke. “ _Isadora.”_

“Oh no, I'm Clarke,” she stutters, still flustered at the sight of the necklace. She's afraid she'll break it somehow just being in proximity to it.

The man chuckles. “And it is a pleasure to meet you, Clarke. But _this,”_ he holds the jewelry aloft, “is _Isadora_. Named for Isadora Duncan.” He urges Clarke to turn around so he can hook the necklace around her neck. Clarke brushes the wisps of hair from the nape of her neck out of the way, shivering as cool metal and stone meet her skin.

When she turns back around the man and his attendants applaud at once.

“Absolutely stunning.”

“Gorgeous.”

“An angel of God.”

Clarke blushes, touching the diamonds, self consciously. She finds herself more concerned with Lexa’s reaction and glances over at the bar to find her. Lexa’s waiting for her drinks, talking to two women who look somehow familiar but Clarke can't place where she's seen them before.

People nearby crowd closer, fawning over the _Isadora_ , distracting Clarke.

 

Lexa drums her fingers on the bar waiting for her drinks. The bartender had gotten waylaid answering a question of another guest further down the bar, delaying the drinks she'd ordered.

“Well, congratulations,” a droll voice says, behind her. “You got her here.”

Lexa turns to find Nia and Echo, their arms crossed, sour looks on their faces. They're both dressed in black cocktail dresses, with sharp spike heels, and diamonds adorning their wrists, necks, and ears.

“But, the question is,” Echo continues, and they both glance pointedly in Clarke's direction. “Does she or doesn't she?”

Lexa bites back a sharp retort and plants a dismissive smile on her face. “I suppose we'll find out.” It wasn't as if she _forgot_ about the bet, per se, but she hadn't really thought about it in days. Yesterday with Clarke was…it felt _real_. Just Clarke and Lexa, together in a relationship. Thinking of that stupid bet just leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

“You don't sound very confident,” Nia singsongs, patronizingly.

Lexa glances over at Clarke, who's being fawned over by a small crowd of people, and smiles unconsciously. She finds she doesn't care about Nia or the obvious attempt to rile her or the bet anymore really, she just wants to bring Clarke a glass of champagne and tell her how beautiful she is.

The bartender returns finally, apologizing for the wait. Lexa nods her thanks and picks up the glasses. She turns to her coworkers, placating them with a polite smile. “Nia, Echo, have a lovely evening.”

They give curt nods that Lexa barely sees as she walks swiftly away. The crowd around Clarke clears as Lexa approaches, holding out a glass of champagne for Clarke to take. Lexa says something no doubt incredible sappy and cheesy that makes Clarke blush, visible even from across the room. Nia and Echo watch with disdain, taking synchronized sips from their drinks.

Becca comes up beside them, following their gazes to where Lexa and Clarke are talking. Lexa touches Clarke's arm and Clarke leans into it, just a little, an unconscious swaying closer to Lexa.

“Ladies, do you see what I see?” Becca says, thoughtfully.

Nia scoffs. “Oh please. Don't be ridiculous Becca.”

“She couldn't possibly,” Echo continues.

But they don't sound as confident as they did when they were mocking Lexa to her face. Not that Lexa even notices, too absorbed in her conversation with Clarke. When Lexa drops her hand, Clarke shifts her pocketbook to under her arm so she can twine her fingers with Lexa’s.

“Don't be so sure,” Becca murmurs. She can admit she'd been skeptical, but Lexa never ceased to surprise her, never failed to achieve what she set out to accomplish.

One of the venue workers comes up to get Lexa’s help with something, breaking up whatever conversation they'd been having. Clarke watches Lexa walk away with shy smile.

“If you'll excuse me, ladies,” Becca says to Nia and Echo. “I think I’ll go find out.”

 

Clarke shifts her feet, feeling awkward now that she's alone again. Lexa had promised to be right back and urged her to mingle and enjoy the party in the meantime. She'd been to functions like this with her mother, been to a couple on dates, but this particular party is important to Lexa, she doesn't want to screw anything up.

Clarke sips her champagne and leans against a pillar, content to people watch for the moment.

The rooms begun to fill up, mostly with high powered, influential people. When one of the biggest names in the diamond industry threw a charity event, everyone who was anyone showed up. Clarke saw her own boss, Callie Cartwig, across the room, but she avoids catching her eye. The last thing she needs is for Callie to unwittingly bring up work around Lexa or someone who knows Lexa.

Clarke's just wondering if there'll be proper food at this event (there's tables with plates but that didn't rule out rich people finger food being the main course), when a woman excuses her way through a milling group of people to step beside her.

“Pardon me. You're Clarke, yes?”

The woman is elegant and impeccably dressed, obviously important. For a panicked second, Clarke is sure the woman is here to rebuke her for daring to wear such an expensive diamond necklace.

“Yes?”

The woman smiles politely, holding her hand out for Clarke to shake. “I'm Rebecca Warren.” She says it as if Clarke should know the name, but—wait, _oh_. Becca.

“Oh, you—you're Lexa’s boss. Hi.” Lexa had told her a little about the woman. Mostly how much Lexa respected her for building this company from the ground up and mentoring Lexa through her internship.

Becca’s smile is kind, but there's a calculating look in her eye that Clarke doesn't understand yet. “I am. And you're Lexa’s girlfriend, yes? It's a pleasure to meet you, Clarke. I've heard a lot about you from Lexa.”

Oh _god_ , Clarke can only imagine.

Before she can reply, Becca continues. “Are you having a nice time?”

“Oh, definitely. This—everything is beautiful.” She touches the diamond necklace reflexively, still self conscious about wearing it.

Becca hums, eyeing her with an inquisitive look. “Diamonds do have a certain beauty, but I must say, nothing shines quite like a woman in love.”

Clarke blinks, startled. Who was she—surely not—“Oh, no. I’m not in love.”

“Oh? Perhaps I'm mistaken.” Becca's tone is casual, but unconvincing.

The thrill of panic is back, for a different reason. Clarke feels untethered all of a sudden, weightless, like everything inside her has suddenly turned upside down. “No, no, no, that's—I’m not—I’m—” She chuckles, uneasily. “I mean, I've only known her like—like ten days—that's—” Her eyes stray to across the room where Lexa is talking to a guest. The swooping feeling in her chest feels suddenly familiar, warm, overwhelming. “I can't… I can’t be…”

But she knows this feeling, doesn't she? Knows a phantom version, at least. _This_ feels like so much more.

Becca smiles, gently, and touches Clarke's arm to get her attention. “Time is no match for true love, darling. Lexa is a very lucky woman. Excuse me.”

Clarke nods, still dazed. “Yeah, of course.”

A thought suddenly pops into her head and she hurries after Becca, who is rapidly disappearing into the crowd. “Oh Ms Warren, _please_ don't tell her!” Clarke nearly runs into those two severe looking women she'd noticed Lexa talking to earlier, the coworkers who looked familiar, but she doesn't have the time or headspace to place them.

She doesn't see their sour expressions, or their quiet mutterings.

 

“Lex!” Anya thumps her on the back in greeting, nearly making Lexa choke on her champagne.

“How's it going?” Octavia says, appearing on Lexa’s other side. They were both dressed in their formal best—the cut of Octavia's skirt being perhaps a tad short for a work event notwithstanding—and anxiously looking around for both their boss and Lexa’s date.

“So, where is she? What's the verdict?” Anya continues, ignoring the guests Lexa had been talking to.

Lexa clears her throat, smiling apologetically to the guests as they move on, before replying. “She's here. And I don't know.” Yet.

“Jesus, how am I more nervous than you right now,” Anya grumbles, turning to scan the room.

Truthfully, Lexa was a mess of nerves inside. She'd been half dreading, half dying to know the answer since she woke up that morning. Outwardly, though, she projected a cool, casual indifference, the mask she'd perfected for events such as this.

“There are other things we need to focus on tonight,” Lexa reminds her. “We need to make a good impression with the Jahas, and with the clients we'll be liasoning with.” Who was she kidding, there was only one thing she could really focus on and it was wearing a sun colored dress and the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen.

Anya rolls her eyes as if she can see Lexa’s disastrously gay thoughts.

“I saw the Ice Queens roaming around earlier looking more murderous than usual,” Octavia says. Even with her heels, she's still too short to really scan the room like Anya can.

“That's promising. Where's Becca?”

As if summoned by Anya's question, Becca emerges from the crowd nearby. She's chatting with another woman on the way, but making her way purposefully over to them.

“Lexa! Just who I was looking for,” Becca says. She's got a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“Ms Warren,” Lexa says, nodding. She waits for Becca to introduce the woman with her, but instead Becca continues without preamble.

“I spoke with her, Lexa, she's absolutely lovely.” There's no doubt who Becca is talking about. “She loves you. Congratulations, you win. You'll be our point person with the Jaha’s moving forward. Get ready to pitch next week.” Becca grasps Lexa’s shoulder, smiling proudly, before moving away.

 _She loves you._ All she hears in her mind are three words that make her heart stutter in joy, in terror, in excitement. _She loves you_. She should say something, thank her boss for the opportunity to pitch this account, but she can't formulate words. _She loves you._

Anya and Octavia are celebrating beside her, saying something about going to find the Ice Queens to gloat, but Lexa barely notices.

“So you're the new point person on the Jahas account?” The woman Becca had been chatting with was still there.

“She loves me,” Lexa says, still in wonder.

“Well, good for you…” the woman says, blinking. “And good for…whoever she is.”

“Thank you,” Lexa says, her heart beginning to beat normally again, as the revelation sinks in fully. “I'm sorry, Lexa Woods,” she says, holding her hand out.

“Callie Cartwig.”

 

Nia and Echo are looking perhaps even _more_ murderous than before, standing with one hand on hip and the other clutched around a glass. Guests give them a wide berth. They don't look happy to see Anya’s and Octavia’s smug faces.

“Ladies, enjoying the party?” Octavia chirps.

“Staying hydrated I see,” Anya nods to their nearly empty glasses, which surely contained strong alcohol at some point.

“Gloating, really?” Echo sneers.

Anya looks at Octavia and they both nod. “Yep, pretty much. Lexa won the bet, so you lose, etc etc.”

“Now we get to pitch and we're totally gonna kill it, while you two just sit by and watch,” Octavia shrugs. “Shouldn’t have challenged Lexa, I guess.”

Nia narrows her eyes. “ _Challenge_ is exactly what we're going to do. Alexandria is a _cheater_. That girl she brought has known about the bet from the beginning.”

Echo nods. “She's just been playing along so Lexa would win.”

Anya and Octavia scoff. The Ice Queens would say anything to avoid admitting defeat.

“We’re going to talk to Becca. Tell Alexandria to enjoy her short-lived, ill-gotten victory. After this, she’ll never get another account again.”

They stalk off, cutting a swath through the crowd as people part for them.

Octavia looks at Anya uneasily. “What do you think? The Ice Queens are full of shit, Lexa wouldn't cheat.”

Anya scans the crowd. “I think this account is too important to risk on a—what did Lexa call her? A cracked out stepford wife? Come on.” Anya pulls Octavia off to search for a certain blonde.

They find her fairly quick. The yellow of Clarke's dress standing out among the conservative blacks. She's holding an empty champagne flute, but she doesn't seem to notice as she stares into space, lost in thought.

She startles when Anya appears at her side, grabbing her arm a little too roughly. “Hey, blondie, remember us?”

“The simpletons from Lexa’s office?” Octavia adds.

Clarke blinks from Anya's hold on her arm up to their serious faces.  “Oh, yes hello. What's—”

“Listen, Becca is probably gonna come over here. Lexa's boss?” Anya sees that Clarke recognizes the name. “Right. She's gonna come over and talk to you soon and I need you to play dumb okay?”

“What? What are you—”

Octavia jumps in, glancing over her shoulder as if she expects Becca to be storming over here any second. “Yeah, act like you don't know anything about any bet.”

Clarke frowns, trying to make sense of what they're saying.

“And you really really truly love Lexa, you weren't pretending so Lexa would win the bet.”

_So Lexa would win the bet._

“If Becca believes you, Lexa gets the account, and we all win, right?”

White noise drowns out her surroundings. Was Clarke a _bet_? Denial surges inside her. No, Lexa wouldn't do that. Lexa is _honest_ , kind, thoughtful…. Stubborn. Determined. Career-driven. Things Clarke had _admired_ about Lexa. Now they were glaring red flags.

Clarke thinks about how relentless Lexa had been, even in the face of Clarke's escalating attempts to drive her away. She'd put Lexa through more than any sane person would endure for a relationship. Unless that person had some external motivating force, driving her to make the relationship work, to do anything to keep Clarke and endear herself so Clarke would—

She thought Lexa  _felt_  their connection. Instead—their relationship, everything— _false_.

The irony here is strong, but Clarke still feels the sting of icy betrayal down her spine. She knows it's hypocritical, but she can't help it. Despite everything that happened this week, she always felt safe with Lexa, _trusted_ her. How else would Clarke have fallen for her?

God she's still reeling with _that_ revelation and now this. Had she actually fallen in love with a heartless manipulator?

Anya and Octavia are still talking, taking Clarke's catatonic silence for misunderstanding.

“So when Becca talks to you, just look her right in the eye and tell her you love Lexa, right?” Anya says, enforcing her words with placating nods as if speaking to a child.

“And you never heard of any bet,” Octavia adds.

“Yep, love,” Clarke mutters. She brings her glass to her lips, forgetting it's empty, and sighs in frustration. “I understand perfectly.” Her insides have turned to ice and she wants nothing more than to drown herself in alcohol.

The other two look relieved.

“Great, awesome.”

“Thank you.”

Clarke tips her empty glass to them, sarcastically. “No, thank you.” She pushes past them, aiming for a waiter carrying glasses of champagne.

“You look beautiful,” Anya calls after her.

Octavia frowns, glancing at Anya. “Should we have done that? She didn't look like she knew anything about the bet.”

Anya shrugs. “If Lexa gets the account, who cares? She put Lexa through hell this past week. Remember poker night? Lexa’ll be thanking us.”

 

Lexa lets Callie prattle on about the Jahas, the diamond account, and SKY magazine for a while, feigning interest. Fortunately her poker face is more than sufficient to mask her whole-hearted disinterest in the conversation. She knows she'll be working with Callie soon—they'd signed a huge ad deal with SKY as soon as Becca had landed the Jaha account—but she can't bring herself to really focus.

She's still floating on the knowledge that Clarke _loves_ her. 10 days ago she’d been arrogant and foolish, taking this bet and thinking she could come out of it unaffected. Now, a reciprocal feeling is bubbling up side her, too scary to touch yet. Her practical side reminds her that her career came first, that she needs to be thinking with her head, but her heart is warm and distracting.

There's a break in Callie's speech and Lexa has enough presence of mind to ask, “So, what is the average SKY magazine reader like?”

Callie grins, mischievously. “Spunky, insatiable, voracious… Uppity, perhaps? I call it self-confidence—”

She remembers that Clarke works for SKY magazine, but she had yet to read any of her pieces. Would it be a conflict of interest to tell Callie sher was dating one of her employees? Perhaps she'd ask for a few back issues from Callie, under the guise of getting a feel for the audience.

Lexa spots Clarke across the ballroom, grabbing a pair of champagne glasses from a passing waiter's try and making for a table to sit down. She feels a smile spread across her lips. Suddenly she desperately wants to kiss Clarke.

Thankfully, Callie is winding down on her spiel of SKY readers.

“I apologize Miss Cartwig, but if you'll excuse me, there is a beautiful young woman in a yellow dress over there that I must go to.”

Callie blinks, her eyes zeroing immediately in on the woman in question, as if she'd known where Clarke was all along. “Clarke? Oh, yes she’s my _How-To_ girl.”

Lexa is mid step when this registers. “How-To?” Had Clarke ever mentioned what she typically wrote at SKY? She remembers the night they met, Clarke's eyes lighting up when she spoke about writing about things that mattered. Things SKY didn't let her write yet. In fact, Clarke had spoken very little about her job in the last ten days and Lexa hadn't thought to ask.

“Oh yes,” Callie says, “Brilliant writer, so dedicated to her work, she's really making a splash with our readers.” Her eyes alight with conspiratorial mischief. “Right now, she's working on the most salacious piece. It's called ‘How to... _Lose_ a Girl in Ten Days.”

Lexa freezes. _What?_

“It's scandalous, this poor woman she's pretending to date—well,” Callie laughs, “not even _pretending_ , she's _actually dating_ her. Doing the most atrocious things to her—”

Callie's voice falls to an echo in Lexa’s ears, as she recounts Clarke's exploits. Things Lexa vividly remembers happening _to_ _her_ , now itemized as a series of hilarious anecdotes meant to humiliate her for millions of readers.

Callie is obviously endlessly amused with Clarke's project, so much so that she doesn't notice Lexa’s sudden paleness, the tight grind of her jaw. She slowly looks back to the table Clarke sits at and finds the blonde staring right back. Gone is the soft warmth and friendly, welcoming smile; now there's just coldness. Someone Lexa doesn't even recognize.

Everything Clarke said, _did,_  all of it, _fake._ Lexa feels simultaneously vindicated that she _wasn't_ overreacting, Clarke _was_ acting ( _acting_!) crazy; and humiliated that she still _fell_ for it.

And now, is this night the big finale, the big twist of her piece? Make Lexa believe Clarke had fallen in love with her, make _Lexa_ fall in love with _Clarke,_ then implode everything right at the end? 

God, Clarke doesn't even look _guilty._  If anything, she looks upset, betrayed. Maybe she can tell Lexa knows and she's mad she didn't get to unleash whatever she'd planned for tonight.

Clarke holds her eyes for a solid minute, before downing the rest of her champagne and standing up. Lexa hurriedly excuses herself from Callie, not being particularly polite, and heads after Clarke. Many people have found seats at the tables by now, so it's not difficult to weave through the thinning crowd and catch up to Clarke near the lobby.

Lexa grabs Clarke's arm. “Going so soon, Clarke?” Her tone is ugly but she can't stop it. She knows she shouldn't do this here, now, but her whole body is tense with betrayal, and there's no way she'll let Clarke leave before she gets an explanation.

Clarke wrenches her arm away. “Well, my job here is done, isn't it? You won your little _bet_.” Clarke's voice is equally spiteful.

The fact that Clarke _knows_ barely registers above the anger Lexa feels. “Oh? Are you done humiliating me for your _story_ then?”

“ _I_ humiliated _you_? You _used_ me—” Clarke shoves at her.

Lexa stands her ground. “Oh, that's rich—”

“To get ahead at work!” Clarke struggles to free herself when Lexa grabs her hands. “Arrogant—back-stabbing jerk—”

“Stop it,” Lexa snaps, releasing Clarke's hands and narrowly avoiding a slap. “Don't give me this righteous anger, Clarke. After everything you put me through this past week—”

“What _I_ put you through?”

“You are nowhere _near_ innocent—”

“God, you are so vain, everything is about you, isn't it?”

“Ma’ams?” The loud voice startles them both. A tall man in a clean-pressed suit is standing nearby, somewhat exasperated, suggesting he'd been there for some time without them noticing. “Can I ask you both to continue your conversation outside?”

The music is still playing in the ballroom, and most of the guests are otherwise engaged, but a fair few are staring. Faces Lexa recognizes. She lifts her chin, pursing her lips. One more on the list of humiliations.

“Of course,” Lexa says, in a measured tone. She turns to lead Clarke out, but Clarke has already turned for the exit. At the door she's confronted by two anxious attendants, asking for her borrowed diamond accessories back. Lexa unhooks the simple earrings she’d put on and shoves them into the hand of a waiting attendant before following.

“Hold on, Clarke, I’m not done with you,” Lexa calls, as Clarke descends the stairs to the sidewalk.

Clarke whirls around. “What, are you gonna manipulate me some more?” There are tears in her eyes, but Lexa ignores it. “Need to win another bet?”

Lexa clenches her jaw. “I never manipulated you. Everything I did was—”

“For selfish reasons,” Clarke interrupts, crossing her arms.

“I had other motives, yes, but I _never_ lied to you. _You_ —You drove me half insane, all for a goddamn magazine article.”

“And you told everyone you could make any girl fall in love with you, and I was exhibit A.”

They both fall silent for a moment, breathing hard, unable to find an agreement.

Lexa hopes to see remorse in Clarke's eyes, but all she sees is hurt and anger. Something surely reflected in her own eyes.

“So, what now?”

Clarke scoffs. “What else is there?”

Lexa sighs, feeling her throat tighten. “That's really all I was, then? A guinea pig to test your theories out on. Have a good laugh over.”

Clarke resists the urge to rub at the stubborn tears already ruining her makeup, sidesteps the question. “And I was just…some girl somebody picked out in a bar.”

That's it. Their whole relationship, boiled down. None of it real, or substantial. Lexa can feel tears pricking her own eyes. She still has to go back into that ballroom and finish the evening with her coworkers, her clients, her industry, and present a professional face. She clings to her anger.

“Well, you know what? Big deal. We were both played. You can even use this as a big twist for your story.”

Clarke laughs, humorlessly. “Yeah. Maybe we should bet on it.”

God, this is such a mess. She needs to get away from this, from every awful emotion that she's feeling. The last thing Lexa wants to do is go back inside the gala and mingle with people, but it's her job. And isn't that what got her into this in the first place?

“There's no need. You did your job, Clarke. You wanted to lose a girl in ten days. Congratulations, you did it. You just... _lost_ her.”

Lexa turns around, but Clarke can't resist having the last word. “No, I didn't, Lexa. Because you can't lose something you never had.” Clarke lets the tears she’d been fighting fall as soon as she turns her back, walking away from the gala, from Lexa.

How did the night turn so sharply? She feels like she has emotional whiplash. And the one person she wants to console her, is also the one person causing her the most pain.

She never should've taken this assignment.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : (


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the big finale. I hope it doesn’t disappoint, and everyone has enjoyed the romcom ride. Huge thanks to everyone who stuck with it all this time and read till the end. Also congrats to those just discovering this fic and finding it blessedly complete. That’s the dream, lez be honest.
> 
> As always, enjoy!

 

 

Game seven of the NBA finals plays on the TV, volume lowered to a dull roar. Normally, Clarke would be on the edge of her seat, annoying the neighbors with her rowdy cheers and protests, but she barely notices the game, too caught up in her head.

Lexa hadn't called, not that Clarke had expected her to. Clarke hadn't called either. She remembers Lexa’s childlike enthusiasm showing Clarke the tickets. _Day Thirteen._ Clarke wonders if Lexa found another girl to take to the game instead.

Clarke tries not to think about _that_ too much.

“I wouldn't have gone either,” Raven says, trying again for conversation. The last few times hadn't worked, but she’s annoyingly persistent. “I mean, I would've _liked_ to go, obviously. It's the NBA finals. I don't think L—” Raven cuts herself off before she says Lexa's name, but Clarke still hears it ring in her mind anyway.

Monty, seated in the armchair next to the couch, shoots Raven a Look. He reaches over to pat Clarke's knee. “You're doing the right thing, Clarke.”

She didn't even know _what_ she was doing, besides being a breakup cliche, eating too much ice cream and takeout, and wallowing in her apartment. Nothing had felt right since Sunday night.

Writing her article had dispelled most of the anger over Lexa’s betrayal. It was hard to stay mad when she weighed it against her own actions. Lexa had done what she had for her career, same as Clarke. Not that Clarke forgave Lexa, not yet. The hurt was still too strong.

Guilt, too. Every time she tried to cling to that anger, to associate Lexa with the pain and drive the woman from her heart, her mind instantly brought up Lexa’s face on the steps outside the gala. Tears, gathered at the edge of her eyes threatening to fall, lips trembling as she clenches and unclenches her jaw. The conflict of wanting to soothe Lexa’s pain, and the sick pleasure of inflicting it, tore her soul apart.

A colossal mess from end to end.

Raven opens her mouth to no doubt try and engage Clarke in conversation again, but thankfully the doorbell rings before she can.

Monty jumps up immediately. “That'll be the Chinese!” There happened to be one of the best chinese food takeout restaurants in the city, right around the corner from Monty's apartment, which may or may not be the reason they were watching the game at Monty's place. Besides the stellar company, obviously.

The game drones on, the commentators talking about some great play Clarke hadn't noticed. She wonders what she would do if she saw Lexa in the crowd of the game. She's not _looking_ for her, but she's not _not_ looking for her either. She'll plead the fifth.

A door slam pulls her out of her depressed musings. They look up to Monty staring at the closed door, his back rigid. After a moment, he spins around and rushes to Clarke's side.

“Where's the food?” Raven demands.

“It wasn't the Chinese,” Monty says, waving Raven away. “Clarke. Clarke, it's Nathan.”

Clarke blinks, trying to place the name before remembering. “Nathan?”

Monty nods, impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, what do I do? What do I do?”

“Um.” What would Clarke do if Lexa showed up right now on her doorstep? “Talk to him.”

“Okay,” Monty says, squaring his shoulders. “Okay.” He marched back to the door, takes a deep breath before opening the door. “Okay, Nate.” There's nobody on the other side of the door. Monty flies into the hall, hollering Nathan's name. Thankfully, the man hadn't gotten too far.

They have a long conversation in the hall. Raven shamelessly eavesdrops by the door, giving Clarke a thumbs up gesture that it seems to be going well. They'd had long talks with Monty about his relationship habits and given him plenty of advice, but it sounded like he had it handled all on his own.

Clarke’s proud of him. He may have been the inspiration for her dating faux pas article, but he was genuine in his affections, if overzealous. Nobody could fault him for that. He deserves all the happiness.

She couldn’t say the same for herself. Clarke sighs and stares blankly at the TV again.

 

///

 

It's been more than a month since the gala and Lexa is still _miserable._ Which, she thinks, is incredibly unfair considering the relationship itself didn't even last a month. She should be _over_ it by now. That last awful night should have made her hate Clarke, but instead she's just sad about how everything went down. And beneath it all, she misses Clarke.

After the argument, the rest of the gala was a blur. She did her duty, talked to clients, entertained the Jahas, refrained from murdering the Ice Queens. Becca allowed her to duck out early, her parting gaze heavy with questions that Lexa did not want to answer.

When she got home, the first thing she did was box up everything Clarke had “gifted” her and shove it out into the hallway. Her apartment felt sterile, empty, without all the colorful decorations now. Clarke had blown through like a hurricane and now not even her old life felt the same.

Lexa couldn’t even bring herself to go to the Knicks game. Even that was tainted. She’d ended up giving the tickets to Lincoln, claiming a work conflict. It wasn’t convincing in the slightest, but Lincoln knew when not to press.

She throws herself into her work instead. The Jaha account, the cause of all her frustrating heartache, is already becoming tedious. She spends long hours at the office, late into the evening, to avoid going home. This is the biggest account she's ever handled, everything has to be _right._ It has to be _worth it._

Anya and Octavia had been unusually helpful, picking up paperwork, running errands, generally _not_ being a nuisance. Most helpful of all, they've avoided mentioning Clarke or the bet. After the night of the gala they'd brought it up exactly once, confessing their part in the reveal of the bet, and Lexa had shut down all conversation regarding Clarke thereafter.

Now a month had gone by and Lexa's firm _No Clarke_ _Discussion_ rule had only resulted in the blonde occupying Lexa's thoughts even more. Maybe she _should_ talk to someone. Her uncle had asked after her, but Lexa had changed the subject so rapidly it surely raised suspicions.

Maybe Lexa's pride is too wounded to talk about it. That she hadn't caught on to Clarke's game sooner made her feel the worst. She prides herself on being an observant person. It's what made her so good at her job. And yet she'd been completely blindsided. So typical of her disastrously gay self. _Fooled by a pretty girl._ Write that on her tombstone.

Lexa sighs and shakes her head. She's been getting too caught up in her thoughts lately. Right now, she's supposed to be scouting locations for a shoot coming up, _not_ ruminating on her failures as a competent, functioning adult.

Where was she even? She looks around at the street corner, bewildered for a moment, until she remembers they're taking a break so Anya and Octavia can get coffee. The coffee shop on the corner had been busy inside so Lexa stepped out to get some air while the others waited for their drinks.

The door opens behind her with a bell jingle. Lexa turns around and nearly runs face first into a scantily clad model on a magazine cover. Across the bottom are the words _How to Lose a Girl in Ten Days._ The words makes no sense until Lexa notices _SKY_ written in big block letters behind the model's head.

“Jesus,” Lexa curses, taking a full step back. It's _The_ article. Finally in print.

Anya waves the magazine around. “Open me, Lexa, break my binding.”

“I'll break something,” Lexa mutters darkly, under her breath. “Where the hell did you get that rag?”

“Bought it off a dude in the coffee shop. Don't change the subject.”

“Throw it away.”

“Not until you read it.”

“I don't have time for this,” Lexa rolls her eyes and tries to step around Anya, but Octavia appears out of nowhere, blocking her path with _another_ copy of the magazine.

“Seriously, Lex. You should read it.”

“No thanks.”

Octavia opens the magazine to a page she has earmarked and starts reading. _”I’ve lost a girl, and l don't know why. What went wrong? When l started writing this month's column, I wanted to commit all the silly dating faux pas. What l didn't realize was that l was making the biggest mistake...of all.”_

Lexa crosses her arms, unwilling to yield. _Fool her once..._

“Listen,” Anya sighs. “I know we fucked up telling Clarke about the bet. We— _I_ didn't know the extent of your…feelings. It made everything worse. I'm sorry.” Octavia nods fervently in agreement beside her. “But I swear we wouldn't be shoving this in your face for kicks.”

Octavia holds the magazine out, folded to the page of the article. There’s a standard headshot of Clarke, smiling like she has a secret to tell, circled beside the headline. A stock illustration of a woman, silhouetted in black, leaving another woman behind, anguished and confused. Bold pull quotes compete for attention on the page. _I’ve lost a girl and I don’t know why._

Lexa stares at it, warring with herself for a long moment. She told herself that Clarke's crime had been worse, that Clarke would have to make the first move, any move, in order to resolve this. Whatever _this_ is. _Was._

A month went by with Lexa absolutely miserable. Maybe this is Clarke's first step. She takes the magazine.

 

The building housing Sky's publication offices isn't too far from Lexa's own office. Walking distance actually. Lexa googles the address on her phone on the way back to the office, and once she realizes it's so close, she decides she can't wait. Anya and Octavia give their blessing, shooing her out the door. Lexa throws her jacket on, stuffs the magazine in her bag, and heads out.

The elevator is slow, Lexa taps her foot anxiously. It's been more than a month and Lexa is impatient to end her misery. The receptionist is pretty and easily flustered. Lexa charms her way past and goes searching for Clarke’s cubicle.

She finds the one with Clarke's name placard on it, but the desk is empty. In fact it's entirely clear of personal effects. Only a lonely computer, powered down, and a desk lamp remain.

Lexa frowns and moves to the next cubicle that reads _Monty Green_ , where she hears voices. A man she presumes is Monty, sits at the desk while a woman leans against it, each holding food in their hands and chatting.

“Excuse me, I'm looking for Clarke Griffin?”

The woman looks up at her voice and immediately chokes on her food. “Holy crap.”

Of all people, it’s Raven Reyes, the _therapist._  Lexa files that away for later, she's on a mission right now. “Where's Clarke?”

Raven coughs, gasping to catch her breath. The man in the chair next to her stands up to pat her back. He frowns at Lexa. “She's not here.”

“Where is she?”

“She quit,” Raven chokes out, still clearing her throat.

“She’s going home. To DC.” Monty adds. He looks unsure if he should be revealing anything at all.

Lexa feels a surge of panic. “When is she leaving?”

“Today.”

Lexa takes a step closer, becoming impatient. “ _When?”_

Raven looks at her watch, then at Monty. “Well, like now.”

Of course this is her luck. Lexa turns to go, but stops for a minute, a realization catching up to her. She turns back to Raven. “You're not a therapist, are you?”

Raven actually blushes, looking incredibly guilty. “Um. No.”

Lexa nods, laughing humorlessly. She can't really bring herself to be mad though. Not after reading Clarke's article. “You did a good job. But you owe me 300 bucks.”

 

The ride to Clarke's building is frustratingly long, in Lexa's estimation. In reality, it probably takes about fifteen minutes. She's stuck behind a short line of cars, just down the block from Clarke's building, when she spots the blonde in question getting into the back of a red sedan.

Lexa flips the visor of her helmet up and calls out Clarke's name. She's too far away to be heard over the traffic. The car pulls away from the curb to Lexa's dismay.

She curses and closes her visor. She is _not_ letting this opportunity get away. Whether Clarke’s only going home for a visit or to stay permanently, Lexa may never get the chance again.

Traffic finally begins moving again. Lexa takes the first chance to cut through traffic and pursues the red sedan.

Later Lexa will claim she used entirely legal, safe methods to advance through traffic and catch up to the car. In reality, Indra would actually murder her if she knew how reckless Lexa drove. All's fair in love right? That probably didn't apply to this.

Finally, she catches up. Waving her arm does nothing to catch Clarke's attention. Lexa flips her visor up and tries to shout Clarke's name over the wind but rushing air and the sound of cars whip it away without much effect.

Lexa considers her options. Without a stoplight in sight, at this rate they'll be at the airport before Lexa can stop them. Time for a new tactic. She inches her bike closer, getting uncomfortably close to the side of the car. She reaches out and bangs on the back passenger window, right beside Clarke's head.

Inside, Clarke whips around, startled at the sound, and her eyes grow wide when she realizes who it is. Lexa makes a gesture for the car to pull over.

Clarke rolls the window down, blonde hair whipping out in the wind. “Lexa, what the hell?!”

“Pull over! I need to talk to you!” Lexa shouts, over the wind. She divides her attention between the road and Clarke's shocked face.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“If that's what it takes. Now please, pull over!”

Clarke debates for all of a minute before withdrawing into the car to have a quick conversation with her driver. After a minute of debate, Clarke returns to the window and nods at Lexa.

It takes a couple blocks for the driver to find a side street to safely pull over. Lexa trails behind, grateful her reckless driving hadn't ended in disaster. Well. That remains to be seen, she supposes. Now she actually has to _talk_ to Clarke. The last time they talked hadn't exactly been roses in the park.

Lexa barely has her helmet off before Clarke's out of the car and storming over. She stops a couple feet away, looking like she's fighting the urge to check if Lexa is injured. Or slap her. Lexa can't quite tell.

“What the hell was that?”

Unperturbed by Clarke's anger, Lexa digs into her bag and pulls the magazine out. It's still folded open to the article. _How To Lose a Girl in Ten Day_ in bold letters.

“Is this true?” Lexa wills her heart to slow down, to stop thumping so loud in her ears. She needs to hear Clarke's answer.

Clarke falters, her anger dissipating into mild panic. “You... you read it?”

“Is it true? Or were you just trying to sell magazines?”

A harsh question. But a fair one. Lexa's testing her. Challenging her to deny it and walk away right now. Clarke swallows, lifts her chin, meets the challenge.

“I meant every word.”

Lexa can't help the smile that twitches at her lips. That's one step. But there's still the car behind them, with the impatient driver and Clarke's bags in the trunk and the plane ticket in Clarke's pocket.

“Where are you going?”

The question throws her a little. Clarke gestures over her shoulder with her thumb. “I'm um. I have a flight to—”

“To DC, I know,” Lexa interrupts. “Where are you going?”

Clarke stares at her, understanding Lexa's question is rhetorical. Emotional. Clarke sighs, looking away. “Lexa…I…this writing thing hasn’t worked out. My mom is in DC, I’m just going to start over—”

Lexa takes a step closer, already shaking her head. “No, I don't buy that. You’re giving up? The Clarke I know doesn't run away.”

A familiar spark of a challenge flares in Clarke's eyes, for a second. Then anger quickly clouds over instead as Clarke clings to it. “Why don't you save your mind games for your next bet, okay? I'm not running away.” Clarke spins around and walks back to the car.

Lexa ignores the jab. She saw the emotions underneath that layer of fake anger. She calls the bluff. “Bullshit.”

Clarke freezes. Slowly turns around, disbelief on her face. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Lexa says, closing the distance between them again. “Bullshit.”

This time, Clarke can't answer.

Lexa stops, close enough to touch. Her voice drops to barely above a whisper, gentle. “Tell me, _why_ are you going?”

“I…” Clarke sighs. “I don't know.”

“I’m in love with you,” Lexa says, reaching, hesitant, to cup Clarke's jaw with her hand. Clarke's eyes widen at the confession.

“You don't even know me, not really.” That's Clarke's fault, the articles fault, any number of excuses.

“Then _let_ me. Stay here. No games, no bets, no lies. Start over if you want, but start over with me.”

Lexa’s got that earnest look in her eye that says she’s serious, that she’s putting everything inside her out for Clarke to see. It scares Clarke, but not as much as denying what’s between them does.

Clarke shakes her head lightly, fighting the last vestiges of stupid self preservation. “This was a trainwreck, last time. You and me.”

“I know.”

“Do we really want to do this again?”

They’re inches apart, Lexa’s voice is a breath on her lips. “Not again. For _real_.”

Clarke closes the remaining distance, kissing Lexa, finally, after weeks of torture.

  
  


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**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

/// _Happily_ after.

 

The backyard is as loud and rowdy as ever at Lexa’s family home. This time for a barbecue to celebrate both the end of summer and Lincoln and Octavia’s recent engagement. There were more people than usual since Clarke had invited a few friends, so they could meet Lexa’s.

The food is delicious, the weather beautiful, and the conversation plentiful. So far everyone is getting along, Monty and Nathan becoming fast friends with Lincoln, and Raven and Octavia bonding over their collective heckling of Clarke and Lexa’s general sappiness. It turns out not all of Clarke’s clingy behavior during the Ten Days was faked. Clarke just likes being near her girlfriend, so sue her.

Lexa excuses herself from the table to go inside, leaving Clarke and Raven to finish their food.

Raven takes a sip of her beer. “Hey so which one is Lexa’s scary hot friend again?”

“She’s not here yet,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes. “And _don’t_ let Anya know I called her that, she’ll never let me live it down.”

“Annnd why do I need to meet her?”

“Because I think you two will hit it off.”

Raven frowns, unconvinced. She hadn’t needed to be persuaded to go to the barbecue since—hey, free food—but was significantly less enthused at the prospect of being set up. Her luck with men is worse than Monty’s (and that’s saying something), and her game with women entirely untested. Clarke aims to change that.

Anya, Lexa says, likes to be _fashionably late,_ which actually means, _has poor time management skills._ Clarke wonders sometimes how her and Lexa can be best friends when they seem to be opposites in so many ways. Maybe it’s that intimidatingly sexy vibe they both exhibit that drew them together….

At last, Anya arrives, strolling out through the open sliding door like she isn’t two hours late. She greets Gustus and Nyko like old friends, welcoming one armed hugs from both. Clarke brightens when she sees her.

“Oh Raven, there she is, come on.” Clarke grabs her friends a and leads her over to the cooler where Anya is digging through ice for a drink. “Heeey Anya, what’s up?”

Instead of responding, Anya crows in triumph as she pulls a bottle of Corona from the depths of the cooler. She twists the cap off and takes a drink, before turning to them. “Clarke.” A nod. Expectant look at Raven.

Right to the point, as always. “Um, Anya, this is my best friend, Raven.” Clarke waves needlessly between them. “Raven, Anya.”

“Nice to meet you,” Raven says, sticking her hand out to shake. Her eyes are bright like she’s just had one of her engineering breakthroughs. “I’ve heard _so much_ about you.”

“All lies, I’m sure,” Anya smirks. “I heard you scammed Lex out of $300 bucks. Well done.”

Raven preens. “Truly one of my finer moments, yes.”

They continue chatting, completely ignoring Clarke. She edges away, sensing her job is done. Still smiling to herself, she heads back to the table with her plate of food. Gustus is just sitting down with his own plate as she returns.

“Clarke. How are you?”

Gustus isn’t quite as enthusiastic as that first time they’d met. He doesn’t wrap her up in bone-crushing hugs or volunteer family pictures anymore. Lexa hadn’t told him _everything,_ but he knew enough. It’d taken a while to gain back his and the rest of the family’s trust.

“I’m great! Thank you. This food is amazing.”

“Indra,” Gustus says, simply. “And how is the job search going?”

Clarke appreciates the interest, however perfunctory. “I’ve written a few freelance pieces for some online publications. A couple are interested in having me on more permanently, but I’m enjoying keeping my options open at the moment.” She chooses her next words carefully, knowing it's a touchy subject. “Actually, I’m writing a contributor piece for SKY right now… A follow-up to my last article with them. The um. The dating piece.”

Gustus raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“The article got such an amazing response,” Clarke says, furrowing her brow, “I didn’t expect it… I didn’t think my boss would even _publish_ it, to be honest. But I guess it really resonated with readers.”

“When you speak from the heart, you can reach others’ hearts that much easier,” Gustus says, nodding wisely.

Clarke smiles, tentative. “Anyway, in light of Lexa and I’s… _reunion,_  I thought it’d be nice to write a follow up. Show people that a happy ending is possible….”

Gustus’ eyes shine. “That would indeed be a lovely thing to read. And I’m sure all those who are _invested_ in your relationship, would love to see you two together for a very long time.”

Clarke’s smile is a little watery now. They’ve definitely come a long way.

 

Lexa emerges from the house again, passing Monty and Nathan on their way in. She finds Lincoln by the railing, checking his phone. She claps her cousin on the back, heartily. “Have I said congratulations, yet? Congrats, Linc.”  

Lincoln laughs and gives her a hug. “Only about a hundred times, but I appreciate it, Commander.”

“Octavia has been absolutely insufferable.”

“She’s allowed,” Lincoln says, fondly. He had also been rather insufferable, and if Lexa wasn’t also grossly in love, she’d drag him for it. As it is though, Lincoln has too much dirt on her to risk that battle.

“She gets a week, and then I bring out the duct tape.”

That makes Lincoln laugh. “Good luck catching her. She’s pretty flexible.” He winks, and Lexa shoves him for it.

“You’re gross.”

“And how about you and Clarke?”

Lexa sticks her nose up. “We are never gross, we’re always perfectly well-behaved ladies.”

Lincoln elbows her. “I mean your _relationship,_  smartass, how's it going?” Lexa had kept the majority of the details from the rest of her family, but Lincoln—she’d told him everything.

She smiles, her eyes automatically going across the deck to Clarke. “Honestly? It’s amazing. It’s so easy being with her. It’s like we got out all the crazy drama that could ever happen in those ten days and now… it’s just _us._

“I want to be with her all the time. I miss her when she’s not there…” Lexa rolls her eyes at herself. “I’m trying _really_ hard not to be a lesbian uhaul cliche, but… I want her to move in with me. I mean she practically does already, since her apartment is being subletted right now, and Raven’s place is too small for two people. But like, for _real._ Name on the mailbox real. And I—” Lexa stops herself, seeing the look on Lincoln’s face. “What?”

“Oh nothing,” he grins, “just wondering when the wedding is.”

Lexa blushes. Once upon a time that joke would have triggered a flight instinct in her, but now everything is different. “I went into a ring shop the other day,” she confesses, quietly.

 _“What—!”_ Lincoln cries, too loud, but Lexa shushes him with a slap on the arm.

“Shut up,” Lexa hisses, eyes darting over to Clarke, flushing again when she finds her staring, curiously. “I didn’t buy anything, I just went in on a whim during my lunch break.”

Lincoln drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. _“Lex,_ still, thats a big deal! You’re thinking about it?”

“No, I don’t know,” she shakes her head. “We’re not there yet, but… maybe someday?”

Lincoln swells up with brotherly pride and wraps her in a hug. “I’m happy for you.”

“Hey, come on, this is your day,” Lexa laughs, patting his back.

“I just love you, little sister.”

Lexa tears up a little. “Love you too, big brother.”

Their hug breaks up and Lexa pushes him gently in the direction of Octavia. “Now go be gross with your fiancée. But like PG gross, there are kids around.”

Lincoln shoves her back, laughing as he walks away.

 

It’s not long before Clarke is drawn back to Lexa’s side. They never stayed away from each other for long anymore, the month they’d spent apart after the Break-Up being more than enough for either of them.

“Well, our friends seem to be getting along,” Clarke muses, leaning against the deck railing. Lexa’s arm goes automatically around Clarke, a quickly formed habit of the last few months.

Lexa looks around at the others. Monty and his boyfriend are chatting with Lincoln and Octavia at the table, while Gustus deals out cards. Indra and the kids are all inside, probably getting food. Anya is nowhere to be found—no, she’s over by the cooler standing _very_ close to Raven, chatting with a smirk that Raven matches.

Lexa groans. “Anya and Raven? I didn’t think you were serious.”

Clarke laughs. “Come on, they’re perfect for each other.”

“Two masters of sass? Recipe for disaster.”

Clarke turns and crowds in close, slipping her arms around Lexa’s back. “One could argue that _we_ were a recipe for disaster, and look at us now.”

Lexa rolls her eyes good-naturedly, settling her arms loosely around Clarke. “You may have a point.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Yes, dear,” Lexa murmurs, kissing her girlfriend.

“Get a roooom!” A bratty teenage voice breaks up their kiss. Aden, his fair hair for once _not_ sticking up everywhere, strolls past with a plate of food. It’s enough food for at least two, but Aden’s a growing boy in the throes of puberty and needs all the calories.

Lexa leans over and snags a potato chip from his plate before he can spin it out of her reach. “Maybe we’ll just go up to my old room, huh?” Lexa’s old room is now in fact, _Aden’s_ bedroom. He turns pink and squeaks out a protest that makes Lexa laugh.

Clarke pinches her in the side. “Oh don’t tease him.”

“Why not? That’s what sisters are for.”

Aden sticks out his tongue and goes over to sit by Lincoln.

“Hey, do you know what today is?” Clarke asks, out of the blue.

Lexa blinks. “Um, Saturday?” Clarke just raises her eyebrows, so Lexa tries again. “National Chocolate Chip Cookie Day? Hey that one's true,” Lexa adds with a grin as Clarke shakes her head.

“Try again,” Clarke sing-songs, swaying them back and forth playfully.

Lexa laughs, running her hands up and down Clarke’s back. “Hm let me think….” She kisses Clarke on the nose. “It’s…Day 100.”

Clarke lights up with delight.

“Not that I’m keeping track,” Lexa adds, casually.

“Of course not,” Clarke grins. She also is _not_ keeping track. Of course not. “Day 100. Quite a milestone.”

“No losing me now,” Lexa murmurs, resting their foreheads together. “You got me for good.”

 

/// fin.

 


End file.
